Star Trek TOS: Honor Code
by Syl
Summary: Cadet Kirk becomes caught up in an academy scandal.
1. Honor Code (Part 1)

Title: Honor Code Author: Syl Francis (Please send any constructive criticism to: efrancis@earthlink.net) Series: TOS Part: Rating: [PG13] Codes: Pre-TOS/Jimmy Kirk/Gary Mitchell 

Summary: 15-year-old Cadet James T. Kirk, youngest cadet ever to be admitted into Starfleet Academy, experiences the grueling challenges of leadership training, and becomes snared in a cheating scandal. 

Disclaimer: Paramount, Viacom and others own Star Trek. This is an original story that does not intend to infringe on their copyright. I only wrote it because I love Jim Kirk, and I've always wondered what his first year at Starfleet Academy must have been like. ************************************************************* 

Honor Code By Syl Francis 

"If I lose mine honor, I lose myself." Antony and Cleopatra (III, iv) 

#### 

Chapter One 

"You're to proceed no further, Cadet!" Commander Kopeck's voice rang through Cadet James T. Kirk's headset. "Do you hear me, Cadet? Abort mission! Abort!" 

Kopeck's threatening tone bore future ill for the first year cadet. Kirk realized that failing to follow through on the exercise would once again mark him as a failure in the eyes of his classmates; on the other hand, disobeying the commands of his Simulations/Tactics (Sim/Tac) instructor could result in disciplinary action and possible expulsion from Starfleet Academy. 

Kirk aborted. 

Disgusted with himself for once again almost destroying the one- man simulator booth (What was it? The fourth time this training quarter?), Kirk removed the holovirtual-headset, ran his fingers through his damp, military buzz-cut, and wiped his sweaty face on his uniform sleeve. He took a quick look around the simulator. The smell of melted transtator circuits assaulted his senses. 

"Great," Kirk uttered under his breath. Taking a moment to steady his nerves, Kirk opened the hatch and prepared to face Kopeck's wrath. 

Kopeck immediately pounced on him. 

"What did you think you were doing, Cadet?" Kopeck lashed out. "The Class-C shuttle you were flying does not have the specs to withstand the G-forces you were applying to it. Do you know what would have happened to you and your passengers if you had attempted such a dangerous stunt in real-time?" 

Kopeck's six-foot three frame towered threateningly over his much shorter student. "I'll *tell* you what would've happened, Cadet," Kopeck continued before Kirk could reply. "You and your crew would have been reduced to sub-atomic particles!" 

Kopeck leaned down and put his face nose to nose to Kirk's. "You're space dust, Cadet! Do you understand? Your foolish grandstanding just cost you your crew! Maybe you don't care what happens to your worthless hide, but no Starfleet officer endangers the lives under his command in order to showboat!" 

Kirk swallowed. "Yes, sir," he managed, clenching his fists. He hadn't been showing off, Kirk denied silently. That maneuver should've worked. Why didn't it? he asked himself, confused. 

Kopeck was still bellowing. "You're grounded, Cadet! Until further notice!" Then turning disgustedly on his heels, he threw over shoulder, "I expect a full report on my comm-board by zero seven hundred hours! Dismissed!" 

Kirk slumped against the simulation room's bulkhead. Grounded! That was just terrific, he thought disgustedly. Grounding meant that he would not be able to participate in flight training for at least two weeks, the minimum punishment. Kirk uttered a word that could *still* bring him a blistering look from his Mom. 

Of course, the Academy didn't officially consider grounding as a punishment--it was called "retraining" in the school officialese--but all Command-track cadets viewed grounding as little less than public humiliation. 

"Retraining" meant a Command Cadet couldn't cut it. 

"Retraining" meant the difference between Command Gold and Special Services Red. 

Well, Cadet Kirk, he berated himself. You always wanted to be just like Dad, didn't you? Being a security officer shouldn't be so bad. Dad's the best in the fleet; if I could ever be *half* as good as he is--well, that wouldn't be anything to be ashamed of, would it? 

Kirk could almost hear his Dad's reproach, "Son, failure is *not* an option. How many times do I have to tell you: In space there are no prizes for second best--dumb mistakes will only get you dead!" 

Dad was right. Failure *wasn't* an option. As he crossed the Academy grounds back towards student housing, Kirk again went over the scenario in his head . . . 

#### 

Chapter Two 

"Steady as she goes, Mr. Kirk." 

"Aye, sir," Kirk automatically responded. Brother, the simulation was *so* real. The computer had randomly selected Captain Wesley, commanding officer of the USS Eisenhower, as the senior officer aboard. Two other personnel concluded the passenger manifest: Mr. Robert Fox, a Federation attache, and his aide, Mr. Leslie Dupree. 

Kirk knew that while the passengers were holograms, they were simulations of real Starfleet and Federation personnel. Kirk had actually met the real Captain Wesley, following the Tarsus IV emergency; the Eisenhower had arrived with the Enterprise and quickly mopped up Kodos' remaining followers. 

Running through the during-flight checklist with the holo-Wesley gave Kirk a weird sense of time-displacement. "Wesley" grinned at Kirk, giving him a thumbs-up. Mentally shaking his head, Kirk concentrated on the task at hand. Remember, he's *real* here, Kirk reminded himself. The hologram program simulated as closely as possible the words and reactions of the real Captain Wesley. The same went for the others. 

"May I ask what our ETA is, young man?" The imperious voice behind Kirk belonged to the holo-Fox. Kirk didn't turn his head from his instruments. 

"ETA to Sigma Alpha Four is sixteen standard hours," Kirk replied. 

"That's unacceptable!" Fox interjected. "I must arrive on Sigma Alpha Four sooner than that. The situation on the planet has reached critical mass. The two factions have made it clear that if the UFP doesn't negotiate a treaty within the next eight to ten hours, then civil war will break out!" 

"Yes, it's imperative that Mr. Fox arrives within eight hours," echoed Dupree. 

Kirk did some mental calculations while he queried the computer about a new ETA that could have them arrive at their destination within eight hours. Both he and computer arrived at their conclusions almost at the same time: Even at maximum warp, the ETA could only be moved up to thirteen hours. 

Kirk broke the news to Fox. "I'm sorry, sir, but this shuttle isn't 'specked' for higher than Warp-three. The best I can do is thirteen hours." 

Fox broke in. "Sorry isn't going to cut it! The UFP expects me at Sigma Alpha Four within eight to ten hours. It's *your* job to see that you get me there on time! If you had read your orders *before* we left the Eisenhower, you'd have known to put this bucket on maximum warp from the outset!" 

"Yes, *your* responsibility," mimicked Dupree. 

Fox continued to rant, but Kirk had already shut him out. Fox was right, of course, Kirk thought. If this were a real scenario he *would* have read his orders prior to leaving the ship, and would therefore have *put* the shuttle on max warp for the trip. 

Kirk made some more mental calculations, as an idea began to formulate in his mind. His tactical display showed a K-type Orange giant star about two light years to ship's port side. Kirk could discern four planets in the system. He studied each planet's physical data. There! The third one from the star! Its readings showed a mass of 321.28 . . . a diameter of 11.89 . . . and a density of 1.516! 

All right! Kirk thought triumphantly. It's almost exactly like Jupiter! Perfect! 

"Sir!" Kirk excitedly addressed Wesley. "That star system to port--it has a planet about the size of Jupiter--a little larger. We can use its gravity field to increase our speed and sling us towards Sigma Alpha Four at a significantly reduced ETA." 

Wesley looked thoughtful. "That's an extremely dicey move, Mister Kirk. This vehicle's max stress load may not be able to handle it." 

Kirk's mind raced. As the shuttle's pilot, Kirk was technically in command of the vessel; the holo-Wesley could caution against taking a proposed course of action but wouldn't give a direct order against it. It was up to Kirk to use his command judgement. 

"Sir, it won't be a comfortable ride," Kirk confirmed, "but I believe that a Class-C shuttle should nevertheless be able to withstand the g-forces to which such a sling-shot maneuver will subject it." 

"Very well, Mister Kirk," Wesley replied. "Execute." 

"Aye, aye, sir!" Kirk excitedly altered course toward the gas giant. As he rapidly input the new calculations into the onboard computer, Kirk just as quickly made the necessary adjustments in his head. 

"Beat the computer" had been a game with Kirk ever since he was small boy. He hated the idea that an inanimate object might be able to best him at anything, so Kirk had made it his life long challenge not to let the computer win. 

There! This time Kirk arrived at the right course corrections before the computer. The tactical display immediately delineated the shuttle's planetary approach. Kirk activated the autopilot; he could assume manual control instantaneously if necessary. 

Thirty minutes later they were in trouble. The computer's voice provided a gentle reprimand, "Warning: approaching planet's gravity well in thirty seconds. This vehicle cannot reach the necessary escape velocity to break away from the planet's gravity." 

"What?!" Fox's voice broke in. "What does it mean by that? What's going on?!" 

"Good question," Kirk muttered to himself. It wasn't possible; he'd calculated their approach to the last possible decimal point. The shuttle's warp capability should be more than able to compensate for its small mass. What was wrong? 

"Mr. Kirk," Wesley's calm voice broke into Kirk's thoughts, "explain." 

"I'm not sure, sir," Kirk replied, his hands moving swiftly across his board. He'd immediately placed the shuttle back on manual at the first sign of trouble. The shuttle began vibrating wildly as it careened towards the gas giant. The computer wrested control from Kirk, attempting to right itself and establish a standard orbit. 

"Oh no you don't," Kirk snarled, frustrated. He instantly snatched control back from the computer, his hands flying across the board. He had to break them free from the planet's gravity well! 

Working from instinct, Kirk fought the computer's override, refusing to hand over control to a bunch of circuitry. Visualizing the necessary angle of approach to bring about the maximum escape velocity through a slingshot effect, Kirk reprogrammed his command console to execute a procedure that the shuttle's builders hadn't anticipated when it was still in the design phase. 

The first of the simulator's overloads occurred at this moment. Kirk was so engrossed in flying by the seat of his pants, he didn't notice that the smoke invading his nostrils was no hologram. When he caught sight of Captain Wesley phasing in and out like a badly adjusted holovid, Kirk realized that he'd done it again. 

Commander Kopeck's tirade confirmed it. Kirk had attempted to fly the simulator beyond its programmed safety operating parameters--again . . . 

#### 

Chapter Three 

"It should've worked!" Kirk muttered angrily for the tenth time as he slowly made his way to his room. He wasn't in the mood to face his roommate, Cadet Gary Mitchell. 

Mitchell was a nice guy, and the two had become friends, but there was something about Gary--Kirk couldn't quite put his finger on it, but sometimes it seemed as if he knew what Kirk was going to say before Kirk said it. It was unnerving. 

Besides, Mitchell was a bit of a cut-up, and Kirk, still somewhat unsure of himself, tended to take things a little too seriously. As a result, Kirk felt slightly off-balance whenever he was with his roommate. 

In all fairness, though, Mitchell *had* proven to be a loyal friend, backing Kirk during a couple of run-ins with a fourth-year cadet named Finnegan. 

Stopping just outside the door to his quarters, Kirk straightened his shoulders, took a deep breath, and walked in. 

Mitchell looked up from his computer console, wrinkling his nose. "Phwee-ew! You are one skanky-smelling sorry specimen! What *happened* to you?" 

Understanding immediately dawned in Mitchell's eyes. 

"No, don't tell me," he said holding up his hands. "What is it now--five times this quarter?" 

"Four," Kirk replied sourly. 

He caught sight of his reflection. 

Criminy! Kirk thought disgustedly. I look as bad as the simulator. 

Kirk's normally crisp uniform blouse was filthily disheveled; while a dark, sooty smudge across his forehead and down his right cheek sharply contrasted with his usually fresh-faced, apple-cheeked complexion. 

"So what happened?" Mitchell asked. "Last go-round you tried to get the simulator to execute a nap of the earth flight path through some pretty rough mountainous terrain. If I recall correctly, Commander Kopeck said that you zigged when you should've zagged. Or was it bobbed when you should've weaved?" 

"Yeah, well, at least I managed to get the bogie tailing me to *bob* into that mountain right alongside me," Kirk shot back, entering the shower. 

"Sure," replied Mitchell dryly, "and my Mom always says that we should set lofty goals for ourselves." Then raising his voice over the running water, he added, "Your goal seems to be to end up a dead hero!" 

Kirk stepped out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his small waist, his compact, muscular build glistening from the hot shower. Briskly running a second towel through his wet hair, Kirk, his back and shoulders proudly straight, walked over to their quarters' single, large window. 

Kirk leaned his forearm against the window frame in a deceptively casual manner. The Academy's green, well-manicured lawns and cadets hurrying to-and-fro were lost on him. At fifteen, Kirk was the youngest cadet in the Academy, and the youngest to have ever been accepted. It had taken a special age waiver--signed by his parents (over his mother's vehement protests)-- and a petition written and signed by several senior Starfleet officers (his godfather, Captain Robert April, being among them) to even get Kirk in. 

Kirk's Mom had felt that her boy was still too young and immature to tackle the challenges and pressures he'd face at the Academy. She and his Dad had argued long into the night before she'd finally signed the age waiver. 

Gazing out the window, Kirk recalled the resounding *bang* of the back door being slammed at dawn. It had punctuated his Mom's keen displeasure, and had startled him awake. He'd fallen asleep on the second floor landing where he'd been listening to his parents' nightlong "discussion." 

The Kirk men didn't see Mom for the rest of the day. When she did return, Kirk saw telltale signs of crying. 

But the subject was closed. Mom had given her permission. 

Maybe it *had* all been a mistake, Kirk thought sighing. Maybe Mom was right. Maybe I'm not ready and should've waited. 

"Hey, I can *feel* the negative vibes all the way over here, kid," Mitchell said half-jokingly, interrupting Kirk's feelings of self-doubt. 

Then seriously, Mitchell added, "Despite what you're obviously thinking, you *do* belong here, Jimmy--" He paused as if to gauge the effect his words were having, then added grinning, "--snot-nosed, squirrelly little farm-boy that you are." 

Mitchell ducked quickly, Kirk's wet towel narrowly missing him. Chortling, Mitchell scrambled to the door before Kirk, also chuckling, could rearm. 

As the door closed behind him, Mitchell called back, "Hey, hurry up and get dressed, willya? So's we can get something to eat before that fathead Nasta has a chance to get it all! I'll meetcha downstairs!" 

#### 

Later that evening, Kirk sat back reflectively. So *that's* why it didn't work. I can't believe it; they programmed a graviton anomaly into the planet's physical make-up--it looks like Jupiter, it rotates like Jupiter, it even has the same number of moons as Jupiter, but, Cadet Dunsel, it ain't Jupiter! No wonder he was caught off guard--he hadn't paid attention to the readings the computer had been giving him. The computer said "graviton anomaly"; Kirk read "shortcut to Sigma Alpha Four." 

Brother, what an *idiot*! I'll be lucky if Kopeck ever let's me *near* the simulator booth again. 

Okay, Cadet, dumb mistakes will only get you dead! And no matter *what* Gary thinks, I have no *intention* of going out in a "fiery plume," as Dad would say. No sirree, George and Winona's little boy is gonna die of a ripe old age--in bed, surrounded by crying grandchildren. 

Dad always says that there're an infinite number ways of getting killed in space--a leader's job is to find an infinite number of ways to *avoid* it, though. 

"Trust your instincts, son," Dad had advised him when Kirk received his Academy acceptance notice, "but know your limitations-- both physically and mentally. Remember: the best pilot in the universe is only as good as his training; while the finest starship is only as good as its crew. 

"Don't forget that Starfleet is all about teamwork--trust your crew to know their jobs, trust your equipment to do what it was designed to do--and then some," Dad added, smiling, "--but check everything--and then check again. Leave *nothing* to chance. 

"*Any* organization can do a lot of things well; but only those things which the boss checks will ever get done *exceptionally* well. The loose screw in your warp core may be the difference between bringing your crew home or going out in a fiery plume." 

Kirk smiled warmly at the remembrance, carefully holding the holocube of his parents, his only desk ornament, between his fingertips. 

"Thanks, Dad," he whispered. "Next time--if there *is* a next time--things are gonna be different." Kirk intently studied his father's image. "No more taking chances with the equipment or the lives of the crew. From here on, the standard is to accomplish the mission *and* to bring the ship and crew home." 

The next morning, unknown to Kirk at the time, his chance came. 

#### 

Chapter Four 

"I hear that Kopeck caught Merrick red-handed," Mitchell whispered, leaning forward conspiratorially. 

For once the breakfast table conversation didn't revolve around Cadet Michael ("Nasty") Nasta's latest romantic high jinks. Instead, the four first year cadets were discussing the first cheating scandal in the Academy's history. 

It was as if the famous San Andreas Fault which ran underneath the Academy complex had suddenly become active and commenced sending seismic waves across Starfleet, rocking its very foundation. 

Just about everybody in the Federation must've heard about it by now, Kirk thought bleakly. 

Senior Cadet R. M. Merrick, ranked in the bottom quarter of his class, had been caught hacking into the Academy's Master Duotronics Unit. Merrick had been downloading the Starfleet Academy War Fighter Simulation Tactics Exercise. 

War Fighter was the final tactics exam all fourth year Command Track cadets had to pass in order to qualify for the Academy training cruise: literally a maker or breaker of fledging careers. 

The Commandant's Honor Panel had convened within the week, and soon thereafter six other cadets, all seniors, had also been brought in for questioning. 

"I don't get it," said Nasta. "Don't you need some kinda super- high computer rating to be able to bust the MDU code? I mean--and excuse me for saying this--but Merrick's hardly a computer whiz!" 

Nasta emphasized his point by waving his glass of milk, spilling most of its contents all over Mitchell's eggs. Grinning sheepishly at Mitchell, he apologized, "Sorry." 

Mitchell sighed and tried to salvage what he could of his ruined breakfast. 

"Besides," Nasta continued, "I thought the Academy's system had double and triple shielding to *prevent* hacking. Not to mention requiring a retinal scan, handprint . . . a blood sample." 

Their third companion, Cadet Eric ("Zinc") Macudzinksi snorted at this last. "Honestly, Nasty, you *do* kill me sometimes. 'Course, in *your* case, they'd probably require a sperm sample--which shouldn't prove too difficult!" 

"It's not that hard," Kirk said dismissively. 

The others turned to him, startled; Nasta with feigned outrage. Kirk rarely joined in on his friends' cruder discussions. 

"Out of the mouth of babes--!" Nasta sputtered. 

"--I *meant* breaking the code," Kirk interrupted, shaking his head disgustedly at his table companions. "Don't you three losers *ever* think of anything besides sex?" 

"No," Nasta replied, shrugging his shoulders. 

"Of course, we do, Jimmy-boy," Macudzinksi broke in, smacking Nasta upside the head. "But there just ain't nothing else on this here God's green Earth that's quite as important as procreation. Why we are merely following His own commandment to go forth and multiply." 

Mitchell and Nasta solemnly nodded their heads in pious agreement. Kirk rolled his eyes upward. 

Grinning at his roommate's long-suffering look, Mitchell asked seriously, "Jimmy, you were going to tell us about breaking computer codes?" 

Kirk had a T-4 computer rating, one of the highest in his class. The others respected his expertise and listened with varying degrees of attentiveness. 

Nasta's eyes, of course, kept wandering around the First Year Cadet Mess checking out the female cadets. Kirk could almost hear Nasta's mental calculations: I want *that* one, and *that* one . . ." 

Kirk shrugged, "We broke into the Tarsus Four government's MDU in about three seconds. Of course, that cheesy system didn't have as many safeguards as the Academy's MDU, but really, all it takes is a little know-how and a lot of determination." 

Pausing, Kirk looked thoughtful. 

"But, and I know I'm gonna hate myself for admitting this," he said pointing his chin in Nasta's direction, "Nasta's right. Merrick *doesn't* have the know-how to break into the MDU. Someone, with a much higher rating than any of us, had to help him." 

The others looked lost in their ruminations as they let this information sink in. 

"Anyway, like I said, if you're desperate enough, like we were on Tarsus Four, you're bound to do just about anything--even crazy stuff like attack a superior well-armed, well-trained force, break into high security areas, hack into a government's secure computer systems." 

"Yeah, but, Jimmy-boy, that was just plain different," broke in Macudzinksi, his prominent west Texas drawl causing Kirk to smile inwardly. "Ya'll had to do that in order to survive. I can't even begin to imagine what Tarsus Four must've been like. But *this*? Boy- howdy, I mean we all took an oath now, didn't we?" 

The four heads all nodded in acquiescence. During the Academy's official swearing-in ceremony, each cadet took an oath to "Neither lie, cheat, nor steal; nor tolerate those who do." It was the bedrock foundation of the Academy's Honor Code. 

A cadet who was found guilty of violating the Code was automatically expelled. Therefore, the student body was shocked by the scandal and abuzz with rumors. 

To complicate matters, Cadet Merrick, terrified of going down alone, had immediately started naming names. Those brought in for questioning were all facing possible expulsion and disgrace. 

The cheating ring was expanding like ripples in a pond--more were expected to be snared in its undertow. 

Any cadet who'd had so much as an *inkling* of wrongdoing, but had failed to report it, was considered just as guilty as those who had actually been involved. 

"Personally," Mitchell said, grimacing as he chewed his soggy toast, "if those brought in for questioning *are* guilty--" he swallowed, and looking pointedly at Nasta, disgustedly tossed the remainder of his ruined toast on his tray, "--then I think they deserve expulsion." 

The others nodded in agreement. 

Still, Kirk wondered privately, what pressures must those students have all been under to feel the need to resort to violating their oath? 

Certainly Cadet Merrick must have been desperate. Ranked at the near bottom of his class, Merrick at best had been faced with the probability of being recycled through the last four training quarters- -the toughest in the Academy. At worst, he had faced the grim possibility of failing and being dropped--four years of study and struggle wasted. 

Now, Merrick faced expulsion and disgrace. "Cadet Kirk!" 

Kirk quickly looked up from his reminisces. A fourth-year cadet-- second only to God as far as the first year students were concerned-- was addressing him. Kirk immediately jumped up, ramrod-straight. 

"Yes, Sir!" Was that a *squeak* in his voice? Oh, please, tell me that wasn't a squeak, Kirk silently pleaded. When was his voice going to finally settle down? 

Kirk glimpsed a fleeting look of amused pity, instantly dampened, in Mitchell's eyes. Kirk's table companions all lay their forks down at once and stared straight ahead. Their fear was mixed with an almost palpable relief in not being the subject addressed. "So, *you're* the infamous simulator demon," the senior cadet said curiously. 

Kirk immediately recognized her as Senior Cadet Commander V. C. Delaney. She and another senior cadet were currently neck and neck for Honor Graduate. Scuttlebutt had it that she'd probably be the first female starship captain. 

Delaney walked around Kirk inspecting him as if studying a particularly gruesome specimen. "So what is it now, Cadet Kirk? Five times this training quarter?" 

Kirk wanted to turn invisible. Did *every*body know? He heard a noise that sounded like a snort coming from Mitchell's direction. Unclenching his teeth, Kirk corrected her succinctly, "Four." 

"I see." Kirk sneaked a peek at her and realized that she was giving Mitchell an almost sleepy look of boredom, a snake sizing its prey. Uh-oh. 

Delaney finally came to a rest in front of Kirk, her hands held easily behind her back. She fixed him with her signature icy blue stare, a look that had been sending shivers down the spines of the first year cadets since their initial arrival on campus. "At ease, Cadet, I'm not gonna bite you." 

Relaxing a bit, Kirk became aware that Delaney stood almost eye to eye with him. He enjoyed a moment's illogical delight in discovering that he held the height advantage, though not by much. 

Kirk also noticed a light smattering of freckles across the bridge of Delaney's slightly upturned nose. He found himself transfixed by the fascinating manner in which her raven black hair reflected the ceiling lights when she moved her head just so, how it framed her lovely heart-shaped face. 

However, Delaney's next words quickly dispelled the moment, infusing Kirk with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

"You're wanted in the Office of the Commandant--ASAP!" 

The senior cadet paused for Kirk's reaction, cocking her head to one side, obviously relishing her role as arbiter of bad news. 

"Well? What are you waiting for? Snap-to! The Commandant isn't in the habit of being kept waiting!" 

#### 

Chapter Five 

Kirk took off, dodging around classmates and narrowly missing at least one command grade officer. Looking back for a split second, Kirk saw that Mitchell had now become Delaney's latest object of interest. 

No running, Cadet, Kirk kept repeating in his head; that's automatically ten demerits. Yeah, well, tell that to my feet, he replied. What a stupid rule, Kirk lamented again. No running--as if no one in Starfleet ever runs during an emergency. 

The rule was designed to force cadets to utilize their time wisely. This way they always had to allot themselves the necessary amount of time needed to walk to and from classes. Cadets caught running were assumed to be derelict in their time budgeting and were given suitable punishment (or, rather, "extra-training" as it was called). 

Lately, Kirk found himself leaving his quarters earlier and earlier each morning, then forcing himself to begin his return trip sooner in order to arrive before the 2330-hour curfew. Returning to his quarters on time was all the more difficult because it meant Kirk had to discipline himself to accomplish all of his remedial simulator training within the small window of "free time" that he had. 

What could the Commandant possibly want with him, Kirk wondered? Could it be the simulator booth? His recent grounding? Both? I'm really in for it now. 

Kirk had a sudden shocking thought. She doesn't think *I'm* part of this scandal, does she? Oh, boy, Kirk thought, slowing down to a stop. If the Commandant was calling him in for questioning . . . but he didn't *know* anything . . . firsters, i.e., first year cadets, were considered little better than pond scum by the upper classmen. They didn't exactly hang out in the same social circles. 

What am I thinking? Kirk berated himself. The Commandant herself wouldn't be seeing him if this were about the cheating scandal. The Honor Committee would've had two members of the faculty bring him in; furthermore, the committee would've handled the summons privately. The days of public humiliation, or branding, were long gone. 

So, what could Cat-Lore possibly want to see *me* for, Kirk wondered again. 

Kirk stopped outside the door to the Academy's main administrative building. The panorama that spread out before him never ceased to take his breath away. Located in the old Presidio of San Francisco, Starfleet Academy boasted one of Earth's most awe-inspiring views: the Golden Gate Bridge. 

This amazing feat of twentieth-century engineering still impressed the first-time visitor, including at least one farm boy from Iowa, Kirk thought. And, the Commandant's headquarters were located within the shadow of the bridge. 

RHIP, Kirk thought philosophically. Rank has its privileges. 

Taking a moment to straighten his tunic, Kirk walked up to the headquarters' threshold and awaited identification. 

"Step forward for retinal scan," the pleasant computer voice requested. Kirk did so. 

"Identification confirmed. Cadet Kirk, James T., currently enrolled in first year fourth training quarter. Please enter." 

"Thanks," Kirk muttered, stepping through the outer pneumatic doors. 

The building architects had also had the spectacular vista of San Francisco Bay in mind when they designed the first floor lobby of transparent aluminum, allowing visitors to be swept away by the spectacular beauty that lay in such close proximity. 

Kirk forced himself not to gape. Instead he reported in a brisk military manner to the lieutenant manning the front desk. 

"Excuse me, sir," Kirk stated, in as no nonsense a tone as he could muster, "I'm supposed to report to the Commandant's office." 

"Name?" the young lieutenant gave Kirk a friendly smile. 

"Cadet James T. Kirk." 

"Ah, yes. Cadet Kirk," she looked at her appointment schedule and nodded her head. Looking up she said frowning, "You're five minutes late, Cadet Kirk. You were supposed to report at zero seven-ten hundred hours. It is now zero seven-fifteen. I hope for your sake you have a good explanation." 

Holding her hand up to forestall any excuses, she continued, "Not to me, Cadet Kirk . . . to the Commandant. Wait one, please." The young officer turned momentarily to signal her comm-unit. Five seconds later, a female yeoman materialized. 

"Yeoman Lake, please escort Cadet Kirk to the Commandant's office." 

"Yes, sir. This way please." Lake quickly led Kirk through the first floor lobby towards the lifts. When they entered, she crisply commanded, "Commandant's Office," and the lift immediately rose. 

Neither Kirk nor the yeoman looked at each other for the duration of the fifteen-second trip. Instead, Kirk found himself concentrating on the numbers as the floors whizzed by. He could just discern the faintest scent from Lake's perfume. 

Jasmine, Kirk identified. It reminded him of the warm late spring breezes back home gently carrying the fragrance of the flowering Star Jasmine bush, which grew right outside the front windows, its vines spreading up the front porch trellis, the hum of bees in soft accompaniment. 

Before Tarsus IV, Kirk had never been interested in girls. While there, he met an older girl, Amavia, and fell in love for the first time. She died tragically in his arms, another victim of Kodos' Enlightened Proclamations. 

The year following his terrifying experience on Tarsus IV, Kirk couldn't bring himself to even think of another girl. Lately, though, Amavia's memory wasn't quite as painful as before, and despite his teasing jibes at his friends' obsession with the opposite sex, Kirk had indeed started to take notice of some of the female cadets. 

Unfortunately, being the youngest cadet on campus had a distinct disadvantage: namely none of his female classmates would be caught dead with him. Something about "robbing the cradle," Mitchell had explained. It didn't matter, though, since so far none of them had interested Kirk. In other words, none of them was Amavia. 

Still, Kirk caught himself noticing subtle details about the "fairer sex" that he'd never bothered with before, such as the subtle fragrance of a girl's perfume, the toss of her head, her smile . . . freckles across the bridge of a slightly upturned nose. 

Unfortunately, these details seemed to hit him at the most inopportune times, such as now, on a lift, on his way to the Commandant's office. Down boy, Kirk cautioned; crew women are strictly off limits. 

. . . Or while standing at attention and being dressed down by the Senior Cadet Commander . . . 

#### 

Chapter Six 

"You're late, Cadet." 

Kirk stopped in mid-stride, then slowly made a ninety-degree turn. It couldn't be . . . impossible! But there she was--Senior Cadet Commander V. C. Delaney striding purposefully towards him from an adjacent corridor. How did she *do* that? Kirk wondered, open-mouthed. 

Delaney momentarily dropped her mask and gave the younger cadet a fleeting look of amusement, then quickly squelched it. It was there and gone so suddenly that Kirk blinked, unsure if he'd actually seen a smile. 

Snapping to attention, Kirk sounded off, "No excuse, Sir!" even though Delaney hadn't given him an actual time for reporting to the Commandant. 

"Let's go. We're expected," Delaney answered instead. Kirk fell in step with her, wondering if he'd ever look and feel as coolly confident as she appeared. How did she beat me here? Kirk asked himself again. 

Reaching the end of the corridor, Delaney led Kirk into a large comfortable reception area, the Commandant's outer office. Delaney briskly approached the Aide-de-camp and reported for the both of them. 

"Cadets Delaney and Kirk reporting to the Commandant as ordered, sir." 

"Very good, Cadet Delaney . . . Cadet Kirk," the aide murmured. A nameplate on his desk identified him as Commander Hightower. "Please wait one." He turned to his comm-unit, then looked up. "The Commandant is ready for you. Please go right in." 

"Yes, sir!" The two cadets replied simultaneously. 

#### 

Both cadets strode crisply into the Commandant's office, with Delaney leading the way. They stopped exactly three feet in front of Commodore Katherine Lorraine's desk, standing rigidly at attention. Again, Delaney reported for the both of them. 

"Sir, Cadets Delaney and Kirk reporting to the Commandant as ordered!" 

"At ease, Cadets," responded Lorraine pleasantly. Then standing in a smooth, almost cat-like motion, Lorraine walked around her desk and shook both cadets' hands in turn. 

Indicating a conference table with padded seats, Lorraine invited them to sit. Delaney appeared coolly businesslike; Kirk awe-struck. 

As Commodore Lorraine spoke, Kirk studied her with an intensity that he only reserved for those topics that were of particular interest to him. 

Commodore Katherine Lorraine (called "Cat-Lore," a nickname she picked up while a student at the Academy) was a highly decorated officer, a veteran of the Orion Belt campaigns. 

Kirk's Dad used to hold his younger son spell-bound with bedtime stories about Cat-Lore Lorraine, the beautiful heroine who'd fought alongside Fleet Captain Garth of Izar, as his senior helmsman and Third Officer aboard the USS Armstrong. 

Indeed, Lorraine's exploits, as well as those of Captain Garth, were required reading at the very Academy where she now served as its first female Commandant. 

Lorraine's personal heroism and bravery under fire had saved the Armstrong and her crew when both the Captain and First Officer were incapacitated during a particularly brutal battle against Orion pirates. 

Kirk couldn't understand why Starfleet never gave Commodore Lorraine her own command. If it hadn't been for her actions, her bravery under fire and cool leadership, the Armstrong might not have survived that fateful battle with the Orion raiders. 

Lorraine's grim determination to halt the Orion advance had galvanized the Armstrong's stunning counteroffensive against six-to- one odds. 

When the figurative dust finally settled, as Kirk recalled, the Armstrong had successfully destroyed the last of the Orion pirate- strongholds, delivering a crippling blow to the slave-traders from which the Orion ruling dynasty never quite recovered. 

The Federation still had problems with Orion renegades, but now at least, most of the star systems in the Orion constellation were members of the Federation, and their current rulers wanted law and order to finally settle in their region of space--or so they claimed. 

Kirk wasn't so sure. It just seemed to him that the Orion Belt governments were protesting too much. Sounded fishy. 

As the Commodore began the meeting, Kirk watched her closely. There were few women to whom Kirk looked up--his Mom, of course, but then she'd probably haul off and pound him with a two by four if he so much as talked back to her--and this woman sitting across the conference table from him. 

Kirk's eyes turned surreptitiously towards Delaney who was sitting next to him. If truth were told, Kirk also thought that Delaney represented the Academy's best leadership qualities, and he had consciously tried to model his behavior on her example. 

So far, Kirk admitted to himself, he'd fallen short of the mark; however, he'd forced himself to turn each mistake into a learning experience, and of course, had tried not to repeat any. 

Then there was the simulator! Kirk groaned inwardly. Had there ever been any other cadet in the history of the Academy who'd crashed the system as often he had? 

Will I ever make it *through* Sim/Tac, Kirk wondered, and actually get to see the inside of a *real* shuttle? 

Mentally shaking his head, Kirk concentrated on what Commodore Lorraine was saying. Had he heard correctly? Kirk blinked his eyes. The Commodore and Delaney were looking at him expectantly. Kirk struggled to get words out. 

"Uh, what . . . I--I'm not sure I understand, sir," Kirk finally managed. He caught Delaney's fleeting looking of mild distaste. She must have heard the same thing I did, Kirk thought. 

"What don't you understand, Cadet Kirk?" Commodore Lorraine asked patiently. Was that a twinkle in her eye? Kirk wasn't sure. 

"I'm assigning Cadet Delaney to act as your senior cadet mentor. This isn't a new thing. A fourth year cadet mentoring junior cadets was an established tradition at the academy when I went through. I, myself, was mentored my first year by a senior cadet. 

"Our motto back then had been 'Cooperate and Graduate.' Mentoring helped me through some tough times while I was an underclassman. Then when *I* became a mentor, the added responsibility bolstered me to encourage my charges to succeed when *they* were going through hard times and felt like giving up. 

"Unfortunately, mentoring has largely fallen into disuse over the years," Lorraine said regretfully. "Oh, the older cadets still help the younger ones--when it suits them. But the spirit of mentoring-- that of an experienced leader acting as a role model for a junior--has been lost for the most part. 

"The atmosphere in the Academy has also changed since my cadet days. There is a deliberate separation of the classes--you even eat in segregated mess halls." Lorraine sighed. 

"I know . . . some of these policies occurred over a period of time in order to *protect* the lower forms from the upper classmen. There was even a dark period some years ago of hazing--one first year cadet even died as a result. 

"I'm afraid Starfleet's solution basically amounted to what my grandmother used to describe as 'throwing the baby out with the bath water.' 

"In other words," Lorraine explained, "the solution was as bad as the problem. 

"This scandal is a prime example of why cadets *need*, not only role models from within their own ranks, but also to socialize between the various classes. 

"Furthermore, the artificial atmosphere of non-fraternization between higher and lower classes--even to the point of disallowing platonic friendships--is much too extreme. It may even have exacerbated the situation. Besides, you cadets aren't being prepared for the reality of close-quarters living onboard ship." 

Lorraine looked at her two fascinated charges and smiled apologetically. 

"We feel that the current scandal is an unnecessary black mark on the Academy's record. It might have been circumvented if these young men and women had had someone to whom they could've gone for proper guidance. 

"Or, if those involved had been role models for others, then, perhaps the responsibility of having others look up to them might have prevented them from violating their oath. 

"Their oath," Lorraine repeated shaking her head sadly. "There is nothing more important than an officer's oath. Each decision made onboard ship can result in injury or loss of life. No Starship Captain wants an officer whom he can't trust on his ship. As soon as this scandal broke, we began receiving urgent sub-space messages from all quadrants. 

"In light of the urgency, the senior faculty and staff all agree that it's high time we brought mentoring back." Lorraine paused and smiled. "In fact, you two are not the only pairings--just the first. I called you both in because you'll be the model for the others. For one week you'll be on display, so to speak--a sort of simulation." 

Kirk grimaced at the word. 

Grinning sympathetically at her youngest cadet's obvious discomfort, Lorraine encouraged, "Don't worry about your performance, so far, Cadet Kirk. I assure you--in case you've been wondering--you *don't* hold the record for the most wipeouts in a training cycle." 

No? Kirk wondered. Then who? Lorraine smiled enigmatically at the obvious question in his eyes. 

"That's all, Cadets," Lorraine said standing; Kirk and Delaney immediately rose, snapping to attention. "I expect you two to spend as much of your free time together as possible for the next seven solar days. 

"I'm depending on you two to help us topple some of the Academy's unspoken taboos--you know, eat in the same mess hall, socialize after duty hours." 

She added smiling, "I'm sure Starfleet will survive the ensuing shock waves. 

"Cadet Delaney, I want to speak to you for a minute longer. Cadet Kirk, you're dismissed." 

As Kirk walked out the door, he heard Lorraine address Delaney: "Velvet, I know this takes you by surprise . . . " 

*Velvet*? Kirk wondered. As in "V"--for Velvet--"C" Delaney? Hmm- mm. 

Kirk found himself humming a song his Mom used to sing while doing housework as he sauntered unconcernedly to his first hour Federation History and Constitutional Law class. 

"I'm always chasing rainbows . . ." 

He didn't notice the pointed winces his off-key singing elicited from annoyed passers-by. 

#### 

Chapter Seven 

Dreams . . . relentlessly cruel invade his defenseless sleep. Amavia's memory, fading by day, returns in unbearable poignancy. 

A cold night. Amavia's sea-green eyes flashing defiantly--again. 

"Amy, how could you just *leave* your post without permission?" Kirk's angry tones echo across the chasm of time and space. "Everyone has to pull his weight if we're all to survive. You *said* so yourself!" 

"I *am* pulling my weight," Amavia replies. Then, raising her chin, her green eyes calmly holding his, she adds reasonably, "I'm *part* of this team. I didn't abandon my post; I returned to it." 

Amavia looks so beautiful this night, ethereal as moonlight. Kirk can't remain angry; she's just too exquisite. He feels his breath catch in his throat. 

On sudden impulse, Kirk tentatively steps closer to Amavia, places his hands on her waist, then rising slightly on his tiptoes, kisses her gently, hesitantly--shyly tasting her mouth with his tongue. 

The butterflies Kirk experiences in the pit of his stomach are secondary to the weakness in the back of his knees. When Amavia suddenly breaks away in confusion, he's only too grateful. He's uncertain how much longer he'd have been able to stand without assistance. 

Is this love? Kirk wonders wistfully. 

Fast-forward less than twenty-four hours later. A fateful rooftop on a backwater colony planet. Amavia lies dying in his arms. 

No, Kirk weakly protests. He can't go through it again . . . but the cruel memories continue to ruthlessly hound his restless dreams. 

"My Jimmy," Amavia whispers. She closes her eyes momentarily, her body obviously swept by pain. Swallowing, determinedly she attempts to speak again. "Jimmy," she whispers dryly, painfully, "promise me . . . promise me--" she takes his hand in hers. 

"No!" Kirk calls out, tossing in his sleep, a powerless witness to a drama as it unfolds toward its inevitable tragic conclusion. Unable to stop it once more, he stands helplessly by as the heartbroken boy, who lost his innocence on that rooftop seemingly a lifetime ago, brings her hand tenderly up to his lips, and again, watches as Amavia's sea-green eyes assume a far away look. 

By now the images of that terrible day are too blurred to replay with any accuracy. Vague memories of Amavia's voice suddenly resound, drawing him back; however, her words chill him to the core of his being, "--that you won't . . . mourn for me." 

She stops suddenly, swept by severe pain. After a few moments, Amavia speaks again, smiling tenderly, an inner glow radiating from her eyes. "Promise me. I'm the lucky one . . . I was your first love. No other girl will ever be able to say that." 

Kirk nods, and choking, whispers, "I promise," believing it a promise he'll never be able to keep. Amavia gives him one final smile, then gently, peacefully leaves him all alone. 

"NOO-OOOO!" 

#### 

A hand was shaking his shoulder accompanied by a concerned voice, "Hey, buddy . . . wake up!" Then exasperatedly, "Come on, Jimmy! You're having a bad dream!" 

Kirk's eyes snapped open. A blurred figure floated over him-- Mitchell, dark brown eyes looking worried. Kirk shakily reached his hand up to his eyes, and sat up slowly. His hand came away wet. His sleep shirt was completely drenched through. 

"You okay, kid?" Kirk could almost *feel* Mitchell's concern across the few inches that separated them. He nodded his head numbly. 

"Amavia again?" Mitchell asked gently. 

Kirk nodded his confirmation; he felt too exhausted to speak. 

Gratefully, Mitchell didn't attempt to soothe Kirk with meaningless platitudes. Instead, Mitchell jerked his head towards his desk chronometer and said pragmatically, "Well, it's just about time for reveille, anyway. Might as well get ready for PT--I hear that the Mighty Delaney is going to lead us poor, skuzzy firsters on a hundred- mile run or something." 

Kirk grinned weakly. Mitchell always seemed to know the appropriate thing to say when it really counted. He was right again; there was little point in trying to go back to sleep. 

PT, or physical training, came awfully early in the Academy. The cadets only half-jokingly called their morning reveille, Oh-Dark- Thirty, an irreverent reference to the fact that Sol hadn't quite risen over the horizon yet. 

Mitchell's jibe about Delaney reminded Kirk that his newly assigned mentor was known for her love of running. Unfortunately, Delaney also loved to force her enthusiasm on the lower classes. This training quarter, it was the first-year cadets' turn to be brought into the fold. 

Kirk had learned one thing: his athletic abilities did not include a zest for long-distance running. This past week he'd finally broken the seemingly insurmountable ten-kilometer milestone. He'd finally been able to run the full 10k distance without humiliating himself in front of his fellow cadets and falling out of the group formation. 

Kirk had celebrated his moral victory by collapsing on his bunk upon returning to his quarters and almost being late for class. 

Of course, when Kirk *had* fallen out of the group formation in the past, he'd been in good company with almost thirty percent of the first year class, Mitchell included; however, Kirk hated to fail at anything, and he'd, therefore, spent much of his spare time running laps around the Academy track. 

This morning, Kirk vowed, he'd show Cadet Delaney that she hadn't been assigned a born loser! What *must* she think, he wondered, having observed him fall out of the morning PT runs and hearing about his flaming out in Sim/Tac? 

Kirk followed Mitchell's lead and hurriedly dressed, waking memories of Amavia thankfully receding into a small, safe corner of his mind. The two friends were the first on the PT field. 

#### 

Chapter Eight 

The athletic field was eerily covered in the early morning mist rolling in from San Francisco Bay. A single, low-energy light source cast a strange, yellowish glow onto the field. The weak light was finding it difficult to penetrate the morning fog to provide sufficient illumination. 

Kirk could just barely discern Mitchell's shadowy outline although they stood not two feet apart. 

While they waited for the rest of the cadets to assemble for PT, Kirk and Mitchell started their warm-ups. 

First, Kirk led Mitchell through the Academy standard stretching exercises. Next, Mitchell demonstrated a few he'd learned while growing up on Mars Colony. 

Although an accomplished gymnast, Kirk couldn't quite believe the contortions Mitchell was showing him were even possible for Humans. 

"You've gotta be kidding!" Kirk protested. "Whaddaya think I *am*? If God had intended for me to bend at *that* angle, he'd've made me an elastic band--or a pretzel--or something just as ridiculously impossible." 

"Don't be silly," Mitchell insisted from his upside-down position, "I could do this drill in kindergarten. It's simple--" Mitchell saw Kirk's obvious disbelief, "--no, really . . . This *is* simple! Look; let me demonstrate it again. This time by the numbers." 

"By the numbers" was the Academy method of demonstrating new techniques to the cadets. Complex procedures were simplified into easy to follow steps that were essentially idiot proof; somewhat doubtfully, Kirk agreed to attempt what Mitchell had called the simplest of the exercises. 

*Simple*? Kirk wondered. Well, here goes nothing, he added resignedly. 

First, Kirk lay down on his stomach like Mitchell had shown him. Instantly, he felt the cold of the early morning dew-covered grass slowly begin to creep up through his warm-up suit. Ignoring his discomfort, Kirk next extended backwards, grabbed his left ankle with his right hand, and gently pulled it towards the back of his head. 

*This* flexible I'm not, Kirk worried. But, while Kirk tentatively tried the tricky maneuver, Mitchell assisted--a bit too eagerly in Kirk's opinion--by gently applying pressure slightly above Kirk's knee and pushing upward. 

To his amazement, Kirk actually managed to touch his head with the toe of his athletic shoe. But he had never imagined that this kind of pain could be good for you! Mitchell started counting-- 

"One thousand--!" 

"ONE!" Kirk replied automatically. Then through gritted teeth, Kirk protested, "This is *killing* me." 

"One thousand--!" 

"TWO!" Kirk interspersed, "I *don't* believe--" 

"One thousand--!" 

"THREE!--that Mars colonists--" 

"One thousand--!" 

"FOUR!--put their kids--" 

"One thousand--!" 

"FIVE!--through this torture!" Kirk managed to gasp out. 

"Now see what you made me do," Mitchell teased. "You made me lose count . . . ONE-one thousand--!" 

"You son of a--SIX-ONE THOUSAND!" Kirk cried out, laughing in protest. "Ouch! Hey, watch it!" 

"What was that?" Mitchell asked in jest. "I couldn't hear you." 

"SEVEN-one thousand--" Kirk sputtered, "--and just *wait*--" Kirk gasped, vainly struggling to reach Mitchell's hands behind him, "--till I get my *hands* on you!" 

"Oh, was that TWO-one thousand?" 

"EIGHT-onethousandNINE-TEN-onethousand!" Kirk finished through hurriedly. "Let go of me, you--! 

They were suddenly interrupted by a quiet, disembodied voice out of the early morning fog. 

"I must say, this *will* make an interesting story to tell around the bridge one day." 

Kirk and Mitchell immediately got themselves caught in a tangle of arms of legs. Mitchell recovered first and quickly scrambled to his feet, snapping to attention. 

Kirk was still trying to figure out which were his arms and which were his legs, when he felt Mitchell's powerful grip practically lift him to his feet. When they were both at attention, the owner of the voice stepped forward in order to be identified. 

As if we didn't know who she was, Kirk thought nervously. Had they done something wrong by being the first on the field? 

"Why are you Cadets out of your quarters before reveille?" Delaney asked them quietly. 

"Sir!" Kirk responded, "We woke up early and saw little point and going back to sleep. Therefore, we decided that we could make the best use of our time by reporting early for PT and warming up." 

"I see," Delaney replied quietly. "Did you Cadets then forget that the company doesn't form for PT on the sixth Friday of the training cycle? Or did you fail to read your training bulletin--posted at Oh-One Hundred hours daily and therefore available to you when you first woke up?" 

Kirk suddenly had that cold sinking feeling he used to get when his Mom would catch him doing something fun that he wasn't supposed to do. Like doing handstands while riding his horse at breakneck speed; or Kirk's favorite "I thought I *taught* you better than that" escapade: trying to do an alpine ski jump off the snow-covered barn roof in the middle of the coldest winter on record. (It would've worked, too, Kirk still thought.) 

The "Look" Mom gave him when he finally climbed down, all safe and sound, still sent shivers down his spine that had had nothing to do with the sub-zero temperature. Unfortunately, Mom was not one of those parents who believed in sparing the rod. And, if "sparing the rod" meant "spoiling the child," then, he and Sam were two of the most *un*-spoiled boys Kirk knew. 

The visceral reaction Kirk normally experienced when he violated Mom's edicts and received one her famous "wait till I get you home" Looks was being generated by a similar Look from Delaney. This was accompanied by her quiet recitation of his and Mitchell's rules violations. 

Rule One: Never leave your quarters without reading the day's standing training bulletin! 

Rule Two: Never leave your quarters before reveille, unless you're reporting to an authorized unit assembly. (PT, for example.) 

Great! First, I flame out; next, I'm grounded; now this! What *else* can go wrong? 

Delaney continued. "Since you two cadets are so eager for PT, then you can join me in my morning workout." 

I had to ask, Kirk grimaced silently. 

"Follow me, gentlemen. Today is my usual multi-g workout day." 

Lovely. 

As they walked briskly in step towards the gravity gym, Delaney kept a running commentary. 

"Cadet Kirk, by order of the Commandant, I'm personally responsible for your leadership training." 

Kirk could almost *feel* Mitchell's sudden spark of interest at this news. 

"Therefore, any failing on your part comes as a direct result of a leadership failing on mine." Delaney paused. "I shall correct that failing." 

This last sent another shiver down Kirk's spine. 

Jeez, Kirk lamented. I thought *Mom* was scary. 

"Cadet Mitchell," Delaney continued, turning to face him, "you're part of the equation since you're Kirk's roommate. The Commandant specifically gave me carte blanche to *adopt* any other lost puppies I deemed as needing extra-guidance." She paused dramatically. "Consider yourself adopted." 

At Mitchell's obvious confusion, Delaney cocked her head questioningly. "Oh? Didn't Cadet Kirk explain the present circumstances to you?" 

At Mitchell's slight headshake, Delaney shrugged and succinctly explained. 

"So you see. I'm your official den mother. Wherever you are, whatever you do, I'm going to be nearby watching your every move, evaluating your every decision. I'm going to become your worst nightmare." 

Despite her threat, Delaney looked quite fetching in the ghostly light to Kirk. Feeling slightly off-balance, he wasn't sure whether he wanted to run in fear of her, or work up his courage and kiss her. 

Common sense won out, and Kirk did neither, although cutting out and running was touch and go for a split second. 

#### 

Chapter Nine 

When the trio entered the massive fitness center complex through one of its many side entrances, Mitchell's step suddenly faltered. He looked to Kirk as if about to faint. Mitchell stopped and leaned weakly against the bulkhead; his coloring had turned a sickly pale green. 

"Hey, buddy," Kirk turned to him concerned. "What's the matter? You look like a little green man from Mars." 

Mitchell grinned weakly at the old joke about Mars Colonists, but appeared on the verge of collapse. Kirk immediately grabbed him and eased him to a sitting position. 

Mitchell started hyperventilating. His skin had turned clammy, beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead. 

Delaney, squatting next to Mitchell, looked at Kirk askance. "He do this often?" 

Kirk gave her a brusque headshake in response. What was *wrong* with Mitchell? He'd been perfectly fine just a second ago. 

Mitchell was moaning. "Jimmy," he whispered, "in the gym . . . He's hurt . . . help him." He clutched his stomach, gritting his teeth against an obvious spasm of pain. When it passed, he turned intensely dark, pain-filled eyes on Kirk. 

Mitchell reached out and grabbed Kirk determinedly by the T- shirt. Then, exerting what remaining strength he could muster, Mitchell pulled Kirk to him. 

"Hurry . . . not much time." Mitchell passed out. 

"Stay with him!" Kirk said, jumping up and sprinting down the side corridor toward the gravity gym. 

Reaching the g-room's security doors, Kirk noted the red warning light signaling that the g-room was currently in use. The doors wouldn't open until the gravity inside returned to Earth-normal. 

In desperation, Kirk looked around for the override. 

"Where *is* it?" he muttered, the urgency of the moment making him careless. 

Taking a deep, calming breath, Kirk began a quiet litany as he searched. 

"Easy, Jimmy-boy, stay calm . . . Someone's life may depend on you . . . find the schematic . . . it should be posted . . . right *here*!" 

The schematic was posted exactly where the student manual said it was located. 

"Override . . . override . . . there! . . . Under *O*, of course. Starfleet thinks of everything!" 

Quickly finding the safety override, Kirk began shutting down the artificial gravity system. This took several tense seconds, however, due to the system's safeguards. This prevented anyone inside from experiencing sudden changes in gravity that could result in serious-- even fatal--injuries. 

When the security doors finally hissed open, Kirk ran in and immediately saw the lone body lying in a crumpled heap in the middle of the gym floor. 

Moving quickly to where the injured man lay unmoving, Kirk carefully checked for vital signs: pulse--weak; breathing--shallow; skin--clammy. 

Careful not to touch the injured cadet for fear of further injury, Kirk ran to the wall comm-unit and called for immediate assistance. 

"Medical emergency! Grav-gym one! Repeat . . . Medical emergency! Grav-gym one!" 

"Acknowledged, Grav-gym one! What is the nature of the emergency?" 

"Male. Unconscious . . . pulse weak . . . breathing shallow . . . skin cold and clammy." 

"Acknowledged. Med-team on the way. Your name and the name of the injured." 

"Cadet James T. Kirk. The victim's name is . . . Cadet R. M. Merrick." Kirk had immediately recognized the disgraced cadet. 

"Acknowledged, Cadet Kirk. Find something to cover the injured immediately. He may be going into shock." 

"Acknowledged. Kirk out." 

Kirk quickly searched for and found some heavy towels in the trainer's office. There wasn't much else he could do before the med- team arrived, so he sat down next to Merrick and waited. 

A hint of a scent that evoked memories of home and . . . Cadet Delaney (?) . . . teased him for an instant, then was gone. 

Why had Merrick been here by himself, Kirk wondered. It was one of the first safety rules pounded into the cadets' brains: Never utilize the g-room alone. 

"How is he?" Delaney asked from behind Kirk. Kirk looked up startled. 

"Not good. I'm afraid to touch him for fear of risking further injury. Med-team should be here soon--" Kirk was interrupted by the timely arrival of the med-team. A still shaken Mitchell followed them. 

Kirk and Delaney moved out of the way to allow the med-team to do its job. Kirk sidled up to Mitchell. 

"You okay, buddy?" Mitchell nodded his head. Kirk was unconvinced, though. Mitchell didn't *look* okay. 

Starfleet Academy Security (SAS) arrived shortly thereafter. 

"Who found Cadet Merrick?" the SAS officer, a lieutenant asked. 

"I did, sir," Kirk replied. "Cadet James T. Kirk." 

"Tell me what happened, Cadet Kirk." 

Kirk recited as well as he could the events of the past few minutes. Had it really only been a few minutes, he wondered? It seemed like hours. 

The SAS officer was looking at Mitchell suspiciously. 

"You say Cadet Mitchell informed you that there was an injured man in here *before* you arrived at the gym?" Kirk nodded. 

"Well, excuse me for not understanding how you knew about the injured man, Cadet Mitchell. So, please explain, just how *did* you know that there was someone injured here?" 

Mitchell appeared momentarily disconcerted. "I--I'm not sure *how*--? I mean . . . sometimes I just *know* things . . . I don't really understand how, sir . . . but I've always been able to do it." 

Mitchell looked bewildered. 

"But, I've only been able to do this with members of my family before; or--" Mitchell glanced at Kirk, slightly embarrassed, "--with people I've grown close to . . . but I don't even *know* Merrick!" 

"I'm sorry, Cadet Mitchell, you'll have to come with me until I can check out your story." 

Mitchell nodded mutely, and looking at Kirk somewhat apologetically, Mitchell left with the young officer. 

"Well, well, well," Delaney said. "Curiouser and curiouser." She looked at Kirk, her head cocked interestedly. "Mitchell prone to these spells often?" 

Kirk shook his head. "No, never. But you know . . . it *does* explain a few things." Kirk and Delaney headed out of the gym, their morning workout forgotten. 

#### 

Chapter Ten 

In their quarters later, the two young men carefully avoided looking at each other. 

Mitchell's high extra sensory perception (ESP) rating was a matter of record in his student files. However, like all humans who exhibited esper traits, the tendency was largely instinctive and untrainable. 

Mitchell could no more control his abilities than he could walk on water. 

Furthermore, Mitchell couldn't explain how he knew that Cadet Merrick had been injured. 

All Mitchell could relate to SAS was that when they'd entered the building, he'd been assailed by the sense of immediate physical danger--a danger so imminent that it literally rendered him ill. 

In addition, Mitchell sensed that someone had been injured recently by that lurking danger. He told the SAS officer that he couldn't recall anything else. 

The SAS officer had had no choice but to release the frightened and confused first year cadet. 

Mitchell explained all of this to Kirk as soon as he'd returned to their quarters. 

"Look, Jimmy, I'm sorry I didn't come clean before and tell you about my--uh--gift. At least, that's what Grandma calls it . . . She told me that *her* Grandfather had also been able to sense things like I do . . . I'd begun to think I was some kinda freak at the time, and I guess she was trying to make me feel better. 

"But you've *gotta* believe me, Jimmy. There's nothing I can *do* to control this thing . . . What I sense comes and goes, almost of its own free will . . . There was even a point for almost two years that I went without getting *any* strange feelings . . . I thought . . . I *hoped* that maybe I'd lost it for good." 

Mitchell faced Kirk sadly, then turned away and standing with his arms crossed, stared out the window. 

"I mean look at your reaction," Mitchell continued, his back to Kirk. "People always assume that I'm sitting there reading their minds or something . . . But I *can't*! I'm *not* a true telepath--I *can't* read minds at will." 

Mitchell laughed bitterly. 

"Believe me, I've tried! Once in high school physics, when I hadn't studied for an exam . . . I kept willing Mr. Jackson to mentally provide me with the solutions . . . Know just how successful I was? I had to repeat the class in the summer. 

"Gift?! More like a curse. It comes and goes when it darn well feels like it, and ignores me on the few instances that I might've needed it for something!" 

Mitchell turned suddenly, his eyes pleading for understanding. 

"Jimmy, I *swear* that if by some passing chance I *do* get a-- uh--call it a whiff, I guess, of what you're thinking or feeling, it's because you were feeling it so strongly. 

"When this happens, if it's something really private, something I know you wouldn't me to know, I try to leave you alone . . . *honest*!" 

"I believe you," Kirk replied quietly, "but what you told the SAS officer, that you've only been able to feel this kind of stuff with family members before . . . So why me? I mean, we're friends, *close* friends, I guess, but we're not related." 

Mitchell shrugged embarrassed. 

"I guess because we *have* become close. I can't explain it, Jimmy, but it's as if you *are* a member of my family. I don't know why--it just *is*!" 

That had been almost two hours ago, and since then, the two friends had fallen into an uneasy silence. 

Kirk knew that he had felt unusually close to Mitchell almost from the start, but he hadn't understood why. It was as if they'd always known each other--like long-lost brothers, but he hadn't been able to articulate it at the time. 

Now, Kirk realized that that's exactly why he'd felt so at ease whenever he spent any time in Mitchell's company. And, conversely, why he'd been thrown off-balance. 

When Kirk was with his roommate it somehow reminded him of summer afternoons spent lazily on the backyard swing with his brother Sam. 

Comfortable . . . warm . . . family. 

However, instead of embracing these emotions, Kirk had been embarrassed by the instant familiarity he'd experienced. Afraid of being derided, he had tried to keep his friend at arm's length. 

But what must it have been like for Gary, Kirk wondered feeling suddenly guilty. An esper with a heightened sense of awareness, to be experiencing these intense emotions, acutely in need of being close, but always being shoved away, Gary must have been devastated. 

Well, Kirk thought, I always wanted another brother. The more men in the family to better stand up against Mom! 

Kirk broke into one his nova-bright smiles and instantly *felt* Mitchell's response; looking up, Kirk saw Mitchell mirroring his smile. Best friends. 

No, better than friends--brothers. 

#### 

Chapter Eleven 

Crimm-mmi-nee! Kirk gasped, pumping his fatigued legs faster. She's sprinting! Kirk felt a momentary panic as Delaney suddenly began to pull away. 

This was the sixth morning that he and Mitchell had been training with Delaney, and during the past three mornings she had constantly surprised them by starting her sprint at a different point. 

This time, the finish line was still over a kilometer away. 

Oh no you don't, Kirk angrily denied. 

Lungs burning, Kirk pushed on relentlessly. He could hear Mitchell's panting breaths a step behind him. 

A grim determination began taking shape in the pit of Kirk's stomach. Delaney was deliberately trying to psych them out. Again. 

On their maiden 10k run, Kirk and Mitchell had barely managed to limp across the finish line, arriving fully thirteen minutes behind Delaney. They hadn't done much better in the mornings that followed. 

Poor Mitchell was beginning to fear morning reveille. Especially since Delaney had received a special dispensation to personally lead her two charges through PT. 

As he studied the now familiar sight of Delaney's graceful back inching effortlessly ahead, Kirk refused to quit. 

He would *not* quit. 

He--would--*NOT*! 

A quitter never wins, Kirk sing-songed. A winner never quits . . . A quitter never wins . . . a winner never quits . . . Anything V. C. Delaney can do . . . Jim Kirk can do. 

All of a sudden, Kirk "felt" that Mitchell was beginning to fade out. He quickly turned and grabbed his roommate by the sleeve pulling him, urging him to continue. 

Not realizing that he was vocalizing his private litany, Kirk was at first surprised to hear Mitchell reciting it along with him; then giving his roommate a wicked, "to hell with it" grin, Kirk echoed Mitchell in a loud rejoinder: 

"A quitter never WINS; a winner never QUITS!" 

By the time they reached the finish line, they were both yelling it out at the tops of their lungs, each syllable in time with their pace. 

Both first year cadets crossed the finish line two full steps behind the Senior Cadet Commander. 

Mitchell collapsed on all fours, gasping lungfuls of air. Kirk managed to remain on his feet, but bent down at the waist, his hands just above his knees, his ragged breathing loud in his ears. When he became assured that he would indeed continue to live, Kirk edged over to Mitchell to see how he was doing. 

"You okay, buddy?" he gasped. Mitchell nodded, still unable to speak, his breathing stabilizing somewhat. 

Delaney spoke calmly. She wasn't even breathing hard, Kirk thought amazed. What's she *made* of anyway? 

"Okay, you two. On your feet. Keep moving or you'll start to cramp." She walked over to where Mitchell was still hunched over on the damp grass. 

"Kirk, give me a hand." Kirk immediately assisted her in helping Mitchell to his feet. "Help me walk him around some . . . That's it, Mitchell . . . one foot in front of the other . . . That's it . . . you've got it." 

Delaney and Kirk held onto Mitchell until he was finally able to walk unaided. Only then did Delaney release her hold on him. When both first year cadets seemed sufficiently recovered from their morning ordeal, Delaney led them through a short series of easy, cool down stretches. 

Finally, Delaney called a halt. The sun had finally decided to join them and was just beginning to break in the east. The morning mist started dissipating with each degree the sun moved up on the horizon. 

"You two cadets did all right. A ten-K distance may *appear* to be overwhelming right now, but pretty soon it'll seem like a cake walk." 

Delaney paused, dramatically crossing her arms in front of her, cocking her head to the side--a pose Kirk was beginning to find familiar. 

"By the time I'm done with you two, you'll be running in the Bay to Breakers." 

Delaney was referring to a traditional San Francisco race that only the hardiest runners attempted. While an ordinary person might have mentioned the race only metaphorically, Delaney had never given the two young men reason to believe that she ever spoke figuratively. 

What Delaney said; Delaney meant. However, as she spoke, Delaney rewarded them with a rare smile, the first real smile Kirk had seen from her. 

Delaney's loose, wind-blown black hair was hanging in damp, sweat-soaked streaks down her neck. Beads of perspiration on her forehead and upper lip caught the morning sunlight. 

All of this was lost on Kirk, however, when he looked into her Nordic blue eyes. Her smile was reflected in those eyes, warming them, genuinely happy, and Kirk felt himself dazedly responding. 

God, she looked gorgeous! 

Chastising himself silently, Kirk reined in his jumbled emotions. 

Red Alert, Cadet Kirk! That's the Senior Cadet Commander you're ogling! Delaney barely knows you're alive, except as a leadership experiment. If she knew how you were feeling right now, she'd laugh herself silly. Besides, she's *gotta* be at *least* six years older! 

Kirk had to concentrate to make out what Delaney was saying. She checked her wrist chronometer. "It's now zero-five-forty-five. Get yourselves cleaned up, eat breakfast, and report to Sim/Tac Five at zero-seven-hundred. We have a little get-acquainted SimEx to do." Delaney nodded to them both, "Dismissed!" 

A get-acquainted simulation exercise. Kirk didn't like the sound of that. Turning to Mitchell, Kirk saw the same look of dread mirrored in his eyes. 

#### 

Chapter Twelve 

"So . . . what's she *like*, guys?" Kirk glanced up from his hot cereal breakfast. Macudzinksi's eyes were leering back at him. 

"What's *who* like?" Kirk asked, feigning ignorance. 

"Come *on*, you two," Nasta chimed in grinning, waving his fork at Kirk and Mitchell. "Fess up! What's it like--having the . . . oh, so *Very Cute* Delaney as your personal trainer? Hmm-mm?" 

Nasta punctuated his question by waggling his thick eyebrows in an exaggerated manner, his dark eyes dancing. 

Kirk rolled his eyes upward--Oh brother!--and, choosing to ignore his two over-sexed companions, turned back to his breakfast. 

Kirk was starving this morning and was not about to miss the only meal he might get to eat today. Sessions with Delaney tended to skip over such inconvenient interruptions like lunch and dinner. 

Yesterday, Kirk had made the gross error of missing his usual breakfast in order to report early to Delaney. He'd never make *that* mistake again. Just before lights-out, Kirk had finally managed to wolf down a supper of stale gingersnaps his Mom had sent him over a week ago. 

Chagrinned, Kirk could still hear Mom's admonishment: "Jimmy, you just sit right down at that table, young man. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and I'm not about to let you go gallivanting off to who knows where unprepared!" 

Nasta, who could be such a pain sometimes, was still needling Kirk for information. His classmates didn't nickname him, "Nasty," just because of his last name. 

Nasta's idea of breakfast conversation usually involved regaling his tablemates with tall tales of himself and his latest sexual conquest. 

Having observed the amused looks of disdain with which most of their female classmates regarded Nasta, Kirk was inclined to believe that the majority of Nasta's stories of personal prowess were just that--stories. 

"You tell *us*, Nasty," rejoined Mitchell unperturbed. "What do *you* think having Senior Cadet Commander V. C. Delaney as our *personal* trainer's like?" 

"You're *kidding* right, Mitch?" chimed in Macudzinksi. "I mean-- " he suddenly dropped his voice and leaned over the table conspiratorially, "--what a *dish*! I can just *imagine* what it must like, seeing those lissome legs in front of *me* every morning!" 

Nasta agreed excitedly. "And--WOW!--when she gets down into the front leaning rest position--" he paused and closed his eyes dreamily, "--you can see--" 

Nasta's fantasizing was suddenly interrupted by a sharp retort from Kirk. 

"Shut up!" 

The table went instantly still. 

Kirk looked across at Nasta, both hands on the table, ready to rise. His morning-fresh apple cheeks were flaming; his hazel eyes a dangerous green. 

Nasta was so surprised that the younger cadet, usually so soft spoken and tolerant of his older classmates' antics, had said anything in protest, that he was unable to react in anger. 

"What--?" 

"I said, 'Shut up'!" Kirk repeated, standing up. 

Mitchell immediately jumped up next to Kirk, and placed his arm across Kirk's chest, his hand on his roommate's shoulder. Unlike the others, Mitchell knew what Kirk was capable of when pushed. 

Mitchell placed his mouth up to Kirk's ear, "Hey, take it easy, buddy," he said quietly, calmly. "Let's go; we have to report to Sim/Tac Five in less than fifteen minutes." 

Kirk was too incensed to listen. He knew that Mitchell was afraid that he might do something stupid like punch Nasta's lights out. 

And Mitchell was right--that's *exactly* what he intended. Why did that *idiot*, Nasty, always have such a dirty, one-track mind? 

Nasta wouldn't let it go, however. Kirk saw Nasta's eyes light up tauntingly. 

"What's the matter, kid? Sounds to me like you've got the *hots* for her!" 

That did it. Kirk started to lunge at Nasta, but was determinedly held back by Mitchell. 

Macudzinksi, meanwhile, had quickly placed a firm grip on Nasta's arm, effectively pinning him down. 

Suddenly, an icy voice behind them caused everyone to freeze in mid-tableau. 

"Good morning, gentlemen." Delaney! 

Kirk squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. Busted! 

The four cadets immediately whirled to face the senior cadet and snapped to attention. 

"Cadet Kirk," Delaney said evenly, "consider yourself on report. Starfleet officers do not fight among themselves, nor do they make threatening gestures to strike fellow officers." 

"Yes, SIR!" Kirk responded. 

"SIR!" Nasta. "Request permission to speak!" 

"Permission granted, Cadet." 

"Sir, I started it. Cadet Kirk was only--" 

"--Defending my honor," Delaney interrupted. "Yes, I heard. But I assure you, Cadet Nasta, I'm more than capable of defending myself. Should I hear you casting aspersions on myself or any other cadet-- male or female--you'll have *me* to answer to--on the mat!" 

"Yes, sir," Nasta responded weakly. 

Delaney's reputation on the hand-to-hand competition mat was legendary. She had been the unarmed combat champion at the Academy four years running. 

"Kirk, Mitchell, you have about ten minutes to report to Sim/Tac Five. I suggest you use those minutes wisely." With that, Delaney turned and strode out of the First Year Cadet Mess. 

Nasta looked at Kirk shamefacedly. 

"Jimmy, Mitch," Nasta began, his eyes downcast, "I was out of line. I apologize." 

"Yeah, me too, ya'll," Macudzinksi added. 

Both Kirk and Mitchell nodded; then gathering their trays, they dumped everything into the recycling units--breakfast dishes, trays and all. 

#### 

Chapter Thirteen 

Sim/Tac Five! 

This was where the Command officers were separated from the Red Shirts. 

Well, Kirk amended, it was the *almost* final cut--commissioned officers who'd had their first deep space assignment under their belts, and who had been recommended for Command School, still had the infamous Kobayashi Maru SimEx to look forward to. However, even for senior cadets, that was still years away. 

Kirk's nerves were on fire. He couldn't believe Delaney was going to include them in a SimEx. Sim/Tac Five was reserved for the exclusive use of fourth year cadets. 

"I can't believe we're here," Mitchell whispered slightly reverent. First year cadets *never* set foot inside this particular simroom. 

"I know what you mean," Kirk replied a little apprehensively. His fidgeting while they waited outside Sim/Tac Five mirrored Mitchell's. 

Mitchell pointed to his wrist chronometer: 0700 hours. Time to report. 

Kirk shrugged his shoulders. Now or never, his green-flecked hazel eyes silently communicated to Mitchell. Kirk straightened his tunic and walked in; Mitchell followed. 

Delaney waited for them. Four other senior cadets already manned different stations doing pre-flight checks. 

"Okay, you two. Helm and navigation's yours. I hear that separately you've had some spectacular flameouts, but when teamed at helm/nav you're suddenly capable of some pretty exceptional flying." Delaney paused and looked at them, her head slightly cocked. "Any truth to this rumor?" 

Kirk who'd been eagerly studying the helm station as soon as Delaney had told them they were to take helm/nav answered distractedly. 

"What rumor?" 

Mitchell, too, was thoroughly engrossed with his scrutiny of navigation. "Rumor? I'm sorry, sir, you were saying--?" he looked up perplexed. 

"Never mind, Cadets," Delaney replied, smiling indulgently. "Run through your pre-flights. We're at T-minus thirty minutes and counting." 

"Aye, sir," Mitchell and Kirk responded automatically, both re- engrossed by their stations. 

Kirk and Mitchell worked together almost instinctively. Kirk was familiar with the helm layout from computer simulations in Sim/Tac. He'd also spent hours pouring over engineering designs of this particular model. 

They were on the bridge of a Marauder Class scout ship, the eyes and ears of Starfleet. This sleek baby was Starfleet's primary scout vessel heavily armed with the latest in phaser technology and loaded with a full complement of photon torpedoes normally found in a much heavier class of ship. 

The Marauder's warp engines were almost ultra-dimensional-- capable of achieving Warp Ten in an emergency. Nothing in the fleet could catch it! 

These capabilities, when combined with its enhanced passive/active sensor array and its dull, non-reflective black outer hull (instead of the Federation's usual "Shoot Me" white) rendered the Marauder almost invisible--a deadly specter harassing the opposing forces' (OPFOR) tracking and listening posts. 

Marauder squadrons were deployed throughout the outer reaches of Federation space, the forward line of defense along such disputed regions as the Romulan Neutral Zone, the Orion Belt, and the Klingon Neutral Zone. 

Kirk's excitement ratcheted to fever pitch. He dreamed of commanding one of these beauties some day. He didn't believe the ship existed that could possibly capture his imagination like the Marauder Class Scout. 

Let his Dad and Uncle Bob extol the virtues of the USS Enterprise and the rest of the Constitution Class starships currently under construction--with *this* baby, he'd fly rings around their warp nacelles! 

A chilling thought hit Kirk. He stopped abruptly in the middle of his pre-flight check. The Marauder was the same weight and class as the War Fighter sim vessel. 

"Cadet Delaney," Kirk began tentatively. 

"Yes, Cadet Kirk," Delaney replied coolly from the Captain's seat. She was studying the status reports in her Captain's console. 

"Sir, are we training for War Fighter?" Kirk asked. 

"You betcha!" Delaney replied grinning. The other senior cadets were also grinning wolfishly. "Welcome to the big-time, kids. You're gonna get to play with the big boys and girls today." 

Mitchell smiled nervously. "I don't understand, sir. War Fighter's only a few weeks away. Shouldn't your helm/nav stations be manned by people who'll be participating with you?" 

"Absolutely correct, Cadet Mitchell!" Delaney looked around at the other senior cadets, smiling sardonically. "See! Told ya they were sharp!" She turned back to Mitchell. "Those stations *are* being manned by people who'll be participating in War Fighter with us. You two!" 

Delaney stood up purposefully and walked around helm/nav station. Facing the two newest members of her crew, she held their the eyes steadily. 

"Cadet Mitchell, Cadet Kirk, you two have been drafted to fill in as acting helmsman and navigator." At their looks of utter astonishment, she added, "And don't worry, it's all been cleared and okayed by the PTBs--the powers that be." 

Kirk and Mitchell stared at each other, open-mouthed. Then, as one, they turned to face her. 

"But--" Kirk began. 

"--Why?" finished Delaney. "Because, Cadet Kirk, our team suddenly finds itself sans qualified people at helm/nav. Senior Cadet Rania Oman, our helmsman, and Senior Cadet Lou Davila, our navigator, were both pulled when this cheating scandal sort of exploded. They've been transferred on an emergency basis to fill slots in two other teams." 

"But why *us*?" Kirk asked. "There's gotta be a whole lotta people more qualified than we are . . . I mean, we're just firsters!" 

One of the other cadets stepped forward. 

"Yeah, kid, that's what *I* said." 

Kirk felt a sudden perverse resentment at the senior cadet for agreeing with him. 

"At ease, Wolfman," Delaney sharply interrupted. "I've been working with these two for the past six days. Believe me . . . we're lucky to get them. They're a little green, but by the time we're done with them, they'll have us flying circles around the OPFOR." 

Delaney smiled at her two charges. "Don't worry, mentorees; you'll do fine. Trust me." Her blue eyes lit in a genuine smile, warming Kirk suddenly. "Why don't I introduce you to your new crewmates? 

"Senior Cadet David J.--Wolfman--Wolfe, you've already met." Cadet Wolfe nodded curtly at the two first year cadets, then turned back to the science station. 

Friendly, Kirk thought. 

"Senior Cadet Laurence J. Wellington, our communications officer . . . called, *Duke* by us, who love and understand him . . . *Beef* by those jealous-types, who would toss calumny at his character." 

Kirk and Mitchell exchanged mutual looks of guilt. 

Kirk recognized Wellington as a cadet who was extremely popular with the ladies. Called "Beef" Wellington behind his back--by Nasta for one--Wellington's dark good looks were rumored to have broken several hearts throughout his four years at the Academy. 

Cadet Wellington smiled and waved from his station. Kirk liked him instantly. 

Maybe I should introduce him to Nasta, Kirk thought wryly, have him give the poor slob a couple of pointers in the romance department. Lord knows Nasta could *use* the help. 

"Senior Cadet Ruth Zyglowicz . . . Zee for short . . . since we usually mangle her last name . . . Chief of Engineering." 

Cadet Zyglowicz was a petite, slim, pretty blonde with what Kirk's Mom called cornflower blue eyes. Not much bigger than Winona Kirk, Zyglowicz would prove an explosive bundle in a small package if crossed. 

"Manning the weapons station is Senior Cadet James J. Fletcher. Known as Jayjay, or Fletch, or--" 

"--Loser," interrupted Wellington, derisively. 

"Hey, Beef," Fletcher tossed back, good-naturedly, "some of us actually reached the top through hard work and effort. Not by *being* on top!" 

The other senior cadets laughed easily. 

"Although," Zyglowicz added looking up from her engineering station, "for our resident Lothario here, staying on top may *require* a lot of hard work and effort." 

Wellington flashed her a wink with a heart-stopping smile. Flustered, Zyglowicz quickly ducked her head back to her engineering status boards. 

"I'll say," Fletcher added. "Did you *see* the Amazon he was *with* last night? She wasn't so much built, as she was upholstered!" Fletcher demonstrated with lewd gestures suggesting huge breasts. "I bet she wrestled him for--" 

"Okay, cut the chatter!" Wolfe interrupted, adding sarcastically, "Remember, we have *minors* here." 

Kirk and Mitchell exchanged mildly annoyed glances. It was going to be a long exercise. 

Movement at Engineering caught Kirk's eyes. Zyglowicz was coolly running her equipment checks, her quiet competent manner at odds with the perky blue ribbon tied around her bobbing ponytail. She appeared no older than Kirk. 

Cute, Kirk thought smiling. 

About to turn away, Kirk noticed Zyglowicz take a yearning, sidelong glance in Wellington's direction. Embarrassed for observing something private, Kirk quickly looked away. 

"That's it for personnel," Delaney said good-naturedly. "We're still two men short, however. Lifesigns and sensors. I haven't had time to go over academic and simulation records to find qualified people. It's not *really* critical . . . We *can* use holo-sims to cover the stations . . . but I'd rather have a *real* person there, if you get my drift." 

Kirk nodded. He knew exactly what Delaney meant. Kirk *hated* the holo-sims; they were so unnervingly real, he invariably felt a red alert going off in the back of his neck whenever he worked with one. 

Kirk sincerely hoped that science would someday stop experimenting with artificial constructs that too-closely resembled living beings. 

"Sir," Kirk offered tentatively, "I know that our two breakfast buddies, Nasta and Macudzinksi, sometimes act like morons . . . " 

Kirk paused, did a double take, and nodded his head in placating agreement. 

"Okay . . . they *are* morons . . . but they're really capable. I'm not sure how they are in the academics department, but they've been whizzing the Sims . . . haven't flamed-out this entire quarter!" 

Kirk gave Delaney a circuit-blowing grin. 

"Besides, they *said* they'd like the opportunity to work with you." 

Delaney grinned wickedly in turn. 

"Yes, they *sure* did, didn't they? Well," she said musingly, rubbing her chin, "why not take 'em out for a spin . . . sort of kick their tires and lube their lugnuts?" 

"They'd like *that*," muttered Mitchell from his station. 

"What was that, Cadet Mitchell?" Delaney inquired. 

"I said, that they sure would like the chance to be included, sir." Mitchell answered smoothly. 

"That's what I thought you said," Delaney returned. 

"Hey, V. C.," Wellington called out. "Since the kids are now part of the team, why don't we drop the formalities with them? I mean, I hate to continually call them Cadet This and Cadet That." 

Wellington turned to Mitchell. "So, Cadet This, what do you go by?" 

Mitchell smiled. "Mitch." 

"Okay, Mitch, welcome aboard." Turning to Kirk, he asked the inevitable question, "And you, Cadet That? What moniker do *you* go by?" 

"Jimmy. Jim. Kirk. Whatever." 

"Well, now, Jimmy-Jim Kirk-whatever, that's quite a mouthful, son," Wellington rejoined teasingly. "Let me rephrase the question: What would *you* like us to call you?" 

Kirk looked at Mitchell, then the others, and embarrassed that he was taking entirely too long to answer a simple question, mumbled, "Jim." 

Wellington winked at him. "Now see. That wasn't so hard, was it?" He turned to the rest of the crew. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to officially welcome aboard Mitch and Jim. Let's give them both a round of applause!" 

The others booed and jeered good-naturedly. Kirk and Mitchell both grinned broadly, giving themselves a high-five. Feeling a part of the crew now, they both turned back to complete their pre-flight checks. 

"Hey, Jimmy," Mitchell whispered sotto voce, "you can still call me Gary." 

"And you can still call me Jimmy," Kirk whispered in return. 

The rest of the pre-flight went without incident, and soon they received the warning signal from the Simulation/Tactics Officer in Charge, one of Commander Kopeck's junior assistants, that the War Fighter Trainer simulation was about to start. 

#### 

Chapter Fourteen 

"Captain Delaney," the disembodied voice addressed them matter- of-factly. "You are in command of the NCC zero zero nine seven USS Aegis . . . Marauder Class . . . crew complement of fifty. Prepare to accept download of sim/data." 

"Science station ready to accept download, Captain," Wolfe reported. Delaney nodded. 

"Operations ready, Captain," Kirk reported. 

The rest of the command stations reported ready. 

"Very well," Delaney acknowledged her crew, then addressed the Sim/Tac OIC, "Aegis ready to accept download, sir." "Acknowledged. Download commencing." 

"Download commencing, aye." 

She sure is one cool customer, Kirk thought, admiringly. 

"Download complete," the OIC reported. 

"Got it," Wolfe acknowledged for all stations. 

"Download received," Delaney reported. 

"Acknowledged, Aegis," the OIC replied. "War Fighter Trainer commences sixty seconds from my mark . . . Mark . . . Godspeed, Captain." 

"Thank you, sir. Aegis, out." Delaney looked around at her command crew. They all watched intensely as the bridge chronometer excruciatingly slowly counted down the sixty seconds. 

The Red Alert sirens signaled StartEx. 

"Sound battle stations!" Delaney ordered. "Screens up! Evasive action!" 

Wellington immediately turned to his communications console. "Battle stations! All personnel to battle stations! This is not a drill, repeat--this is not a drill! All departments report!" 

The bridge became electrified. 

Mitchell at navigation fed nonstop data to the helm faster than Kirk's eyes could follow. Kirk, thoroughly enraptured by Aegis' smooth handling, accepted the data and nimbly compensated the helm to each new adjustment. 

The two acted as one--anticipating each other's moves. 

"Science Officer! Status!" Delaney said. "What's happening?" 

"We are in an anomalous meteor shower, Captain," Wolfe replied calmly, not looking up from his monitor. "Probably deflected from its normal orbit by an unknown spatial disturbance." 

"Tactical," Delaney ordered. 

The forward viewing screen immediately changed into a three- dimensional schematic of their current predicament: They were indeed in the middle of an "anomalous" meteor shower . . . and they were about to face the worst of it! 

"Mr. Kirk!" Delaney said calmly, "Get us out of here!" 

"Aye, Captain!" Kirk swiftly responded, hands flying across the helm. In the back of his mind, Kirk formed a three-D image of the quickest, safest route to escape imminent destruction. 

Solution? 

Down! 

Kirk evaded a small moonlet that was about to turn them into space dust, spun the Aegis 90 degrees to port to avoid the next deathtrap, and without warning, dropped the ship one million kilometers on the Z-axis, zig-zagging wildly through the lethal asteroid belt. 

Kirk dared not think about the near misses. "Bullet burns," Dad called them. 

The inertial dampers took a split second to compensate, and unprepared for the sudden maneuver, several of the command crew took a spill. 

"What the--!" Zyglowicz cried out, falling head over heels, landing abruptly hard, spewing a string of expletives. One in particular made Kirk wince in shock. 

She didn't say *that*, he thought. 

It was over in an instant. One nano-second they were facing imminent destruction, the next, they were sailing "calm seas." 

From the Captain's seat, Delaney spoke slowly, enunciating each word carefully. "What kind of maneuver do you call *that*, Mr. Kirk?" 

Kirk spun slowly in his chair and looked at Delaney, sheepishly boyish. "The cross my heart and hope not to die today maneuver, Captain?" 

"I see." Delaney's mouth quirked. The rest of the crew broke out in broad relieved grins. 

"Back to work," Delaney interrupted. "Damage control! Mr. Wellington, I want to know how much that meteor shower cost us!" 

"Aye, sir!" 

"Zee, you gonna live?" Delaney asked. 

Zyglowicz, receiving a hand up from Fletcher, looked slightly disheveled. Her blue ribbon had come undone and was hanging limply down over her right eye. Zyglowicz exasperatedly blew the ribbon out of the way, nodded at Delaney, and glared photon torpedoes at Kirk. 

Uh-oh, Kirk thought, quickly turning back to his console. 

"First Officer." Delaney turned her Captain's chair to face Wolfe. 

"Aye, Captain." 

"Break out the OPORDER. Let's see what Starfleet has planned for us." 

"Aye, Captain. Computer, this is the First Officer, break out War Fighter Trainer sealed Operations Order Number zero zero one four nine six point two five. Acknowledge." 

"Working. Sealed Operations Order Number zero zero one four nine six point two five requires voice activated code." 

"Computer, this is the Captain," Delaney stepped in. "Voice activated code Delta Alpha zero three zero slash two execute." 

"Working. Access complete." 

Wolfe began sending each station their War Fighter telemetry. He dispatched the visual/voice instruction to the viewscreen. 

The handsome figure of Commodore Lorraine appeared. She smiled at the bridge crew. 

"Captain Delaney . . . crew of the Aegis . . . if you're listening to this recorded transmission, then you've found a way to escape the meteor shower. Congratulations--you're the first crew this training quarter to do so!" 

Mitchell pounded Kirk on the back. Kirk grinned self-consciously; apple cheeks flushed a bright crimson. 

"As you know, the Orion Belt has been experiencing a series of new, harassing raids by latter-day pirates. The Federation is responding to the local civilian governments' call for immediate aid. 

"These unknown brigantines have been attacking shipping lanes within the Orion Belt. So far they've disabled two civilian transports, killing twenty non-combatants--men, women, and children-- leaving the survivors with just enough life-support to sustain them until help arrived. 

"They've also pirated a cargo carrier that was transporting raw dilithium crystals to Centaurus Prime for processing." Lorraine's countenance grew grim as the gravity of the situation sunk in. 

"However, as serious as these specifics are, the tactical scenario is worse. At Stardate One Four Six point Zero Three, the Orion raiders surprised and overcame the crew of an armed Starfleet vessel--the USS Argus, one of your sister Marauder Class Scout ships. 

"The Argus' last transmission warned that they were under attack. Since then there has been no word. The Argus and crew are presumed lost or captured. 

"Your mission, Captain Delaney, is to find these Raiders and stop them by whatever means necessary. 

"Starfleet out." Commodore Lorraine's image was replaced with the UFP Standard. 

Delaney rose smoothly and moved next to the viewing screen. 

"Duke, split screen. Tactical on left; real-time on right." Wellington immediately made the necessary adjustments on his communications console. 

"Mitch, plot three possible routes through the known pirates' zone of attack to the star grids on your board. When I ask for them I want you to put them on the screen . . . labeled Red for most hazardous . . . Blue for medium . . . Green for greatest probability of success." 

Mitchell nodded in acknowledgement. 

"Jim, study Mitch's plots and start anticipating methods and means of piloting the craft with maximum stealth and speed. I want you to compute a minimum of five possible scenarios with each of the plots." 

"Aye, sir," Kirk immediately responded. He and Mitchell began planning their approach through OPFOR territory--offensively and defensively. 

"Duke, maintain listening silence; maximum passive sensor range. I don't want any surprises while we're in the planning stage." 

Wellington nodded. He was already listening intently, holding his subspace receiver unit to his ear. 

"Wolfman, Zee, Jayjay--with me." 

The members of the command crew carried out their orders with quiet efficiency. 

#### 


	2. Honor Code (Part 2)

Chapter Fifteen 

While Delaney and her senior staff conferred on the intelligence situation report (SITREP), Kirk and Mitchell worked at programming several possible scenarios into the helm/nav station. 

Using the three-dimensional star grids provided by Starfleet Intelligence that pinpointed the locations of the reported pirate raids, Kirk and Mitchell devised several angles of approach to their proposed celestial destinations. 

For each plot Mitchell proposed, Kirk evaluated the risk of detection, revised the course to steer closer to any astronomical bodies enroute which could provide them with cover, discarded ideas and then revised again. 

By the time Delaney asked for the information she'd requested earlier, Kirk and Mitchell had planned fifteen possible stratagems, selected the three best, and rated them Red, Blue, Green as she'd ordered. 

Delaney studied each plan closely, looking for weaknesses. Wolfe looked at the two "minors" with new respect. 

"That's a helluva of fine job of planning," Wolfe said nodding curtly. "You two are okay." 

"Wolfman's right. That *is* a helluva job. All right, best case scenario . . . we'll execute Plan Green. We'll determine changes as the situation warrants." Delaney paused, then eyed Mitchell and Kirk pointedly. 

"Okay . . . I've been working with you two just long enough to know that what's on screen isn't the half of it. Let me see some of the plots you've charted and decided to tuck away for a rainy day." 

Kirk and Mitchell looked at each other and shrugged. Oh, well. 

"Captain! Bogie at three thousand parsecs and closing!" Wellington listened intently at his post. "One . . . No, two . . . three! That's a confirmation . . . Three bogies on an intercept course!" 

"Red Alert!" Delaney commanded. 

"Screens up! All defensive shields at maximum!" barked Wolfe. "Mr. Wellington, sound battle stations!" 

Wellington began his crisp, calm intonation over the intershipcom: "Battle stations! All hands to battle stations! This is not a drill. Repeat . . . " 

Delaney looked at Wolfe and made a slashing motion across her throat. The Red Alert sirens were immediately silenced. 

"Mr. Kirk, Mr. Mitchell, execute Plan Red . . . They know we're here . . . Let's let them know the reverse is true." 

"Plan Red, aye," acknowledged Kirk and Mitchell simultaneously. 

The ship's warp engines suddenly came online, and the Aegis jumped to warp five in an eye blink. The illusion of a rainbow effect instaneously there and gone on the viewscreen never ceased to amaze to Kirk. 

He started humming off-key under his breath: "I'm always chasing rainbows--" 

Mitchell elbowed him, annoyed. Kirk grinned. 

Kirk closed the distance to the OPFOR in a matter of seconds. Okay, you uglies wanted a look the lady . . . well here she comes, barreling straight down your throats . . . And, just like her Captain, this beauty can take care of herself. 

With that thought, Kirk went into his and Mitchell's pre-planned maneuvers. 

Taking a lesson from one of his six-year old high jinks, when he'd "borrowed" his Dad's powerboat, and nearly rammed the North American Governor's private yacht while it was on a Mississippi River excursion, Kirk revved up the Aegis' speed and buzzed straight through the raiders' tight formation, scattering them in confusion. 

Before the bandits could fully recover, Kirk brought the Aegis full about. Fletcher targeted the first bogie. 

"Fire when ready, Mr. Fletcher," Delaney ordered. 

"Target acquired!" Fletcher reported. "Torpedoes away!" 

An instant later the raider went up in a fiery display. Kirk flew the Aegis through the enemy's death fires and quickly came up on the second raider. 

Perfect target! 

"He's showing us his thrusters, Mr. Fletcher," Delaney calmly informed him. "I suggest you fire!" 

"Torpedo malfunction, Captain! Forward tubes three, five, and seven." Fletcher sounded close to panic. "Switching to phasers." 

Kirk meanwhile was feverishly performing aerial acrobatics. The bogie wasn't just rolling over and dying. To Kirk's grim admiration, the bad guys were displaying a surprisingly dogged determination. So much for expectations of cowardice on the part of one's enemies. The raider continuously sprayed the space surrounding the Aegis' vicinity with a combination of photon torpedoes and something that looked like phasers, but were proving to be much more lethal. 

The Aegis was taking a pounding despite Kirk's best efforts. 

"Number two shield buckling!" reported Zyglowicz. "Captain, we can't take much more of this!" 

"Mr. Fletcher . . . " Delaney intoned intensely. 

What the hell is taking Jayjay so long? Kirk thought in quiet desperation. His forehead had broken out in beads of sweat. His shoulder muscles bulged with tension. He wouldn't be able to avoid a direct hit at this close range much longer! 

"Now would be a good time, Mr. Fletcher," Delaney said through gritted teeth. 

"Target acquired!" Fletcher called out relieved. 

"Fire phasers!" Delaney barked. The Aegis' phasers shot out across empty space. Clean miss. 

The Aegis suddenly found herself in a baseball double play. The raider that they'd been about to destroy had led them neatly into a trap. 

Kirk didn't wait for the order; he just reacted. 

"Hold oonn-nnn-nn-n!" he warned. Kirk spun the helm 70 degrees hard to port, then pushed the Marauder up along the Z-axis. The two remaining raiders almost collided in their eagerness to capture the valuable prize. 

*That* won't work again, Kirk thought regretfully. Then again . . . why not? 

Kirk brought the Aegis 180 degrees full about, directly into the line of fire, and impatient at Fletcher for missing such a golden opportunity as the one he and Mitchell had offered him, Kirk took helm control of the weapons systems--and fired! 

"Direct hit to the warp core!" reported Wolfe. "Warp breach build-up . . . He's going to blow!" 

The bogie listed to starboard, spinning madly out of control. Two seconds later it went nova. The forward viewing screen compensated, saving them all from being momentarily dazzled by the mini-sun's short-lived brilliance. 

Two down--one to go! 

Too late! The remaining raider turned tail and ran, disappearing from the Aegis' forward sensors at maximum warp. 

Oh, man! I'd *love* to get a look at those engineering specs! Kirk thought enviously. He's *gotta* be doing close to warp *twelve*! 

"Secure from battle stations," Delaney ordered quietly. "Damage report, Mr. Wellington. What did that cost us?" 

Wellington nodded; he was already receiving damage reports from all departments. 

"Damage to starboard hull, deck three . . . forward torpedo tubes offline . . . aft tubes . . . two and four functional . . . six is offline . . . three crewmembers with minor injuries." 

"Zee, report." Delaney asked crisply. 

"Number two shield is at ten-percent . . . that's located at the hull breach. Dilithium crystals are at eighty-percent efficiency. Jim's spectacular flying feats at near warp ten strained their capacity to regenerate. It'll take some time to repair the damage." 

"How much time?" 

"About five hours, Captain," Zyglowicz reported. 

"You've got one." 

Zyglowicz grimaced, but nodded and looking suddenly distracted by the problem at hand, turned back to her damage control. 

"Mr. Kirk, with me," Delaney ordered curtly. Surprised, Kirk followed her to a small corner forward of the bridge. 

What's up? Kirk wondered, confused. 

Their backs turned to the others, Delaney spoke in low even tones; however, Kirk detected an undercurrent of cold fury behind the quiet voice. 

"You wrested weapons control without my authority, mister. You've got some explaining to do." Delaney kept her voice tightly under control. 

Kirk snapped to attention, looking straight ahead. "No excuse, Captain!" 

"You *bet* there's no excuse. Oh, you managed to save our tails . . . *this* time . . . but what of the next time . . . and the time after that?" 

Kirk felt a cold hard knot in the pit of his stomach. He hadn't thought the whole thing through . . . there'd been no time! 

"This isn't a game, mister. Decisions made on the bridge can mean life or death for the crew. We're a team . . . we have to trust each other." 

Hearing the echoes of his earlier promise to his Dad, Kirk squirmed under Delaney's direct gaze. 

"How can any member of this crew trust you to do your job, if you don't trust us to do ours? There's room for only one Captain onboard ship. On the Aegis, it happens to be me." 

Delaney cocked her head to the side. The subdued bridge lighting painted reddish highlights on her raven hair. 

Delaney looked away for a moment, her countenance suddenly vulnerable, the weight of command riding heavily on her shoulders. Kirk had an insane urge to hold her comfortingly in his arms. The moment instantly passed. 

Tightening her lips and thrusting her chin out, Delaney eyed him coldly. 

"*I* make the decisions . . . *I* give the orders . . . *You* fly the ship . . . You *follow* orders . . . Do you understand?" 

Kirk nodded. 

"Very well. Return to your station." 

Kirk turned to go, but Delaney's soft, voice stopped him. "Jim . . . you really *are* a helluva pilot." 

Not daring to look back, Kirk nodded and moved back to the helm. 

#### 

Chapter Sixteen 

The warning buzzer signaling ENDEX startled Kirk back to reality. The simulation had been incredibly authentic; every sensation he'd experienced had been the same as if he'd actually been on board a Marauder Scout chasing Orion pirates. Coming back down to Earth proved almost a jolt. 

What's real and what's not? Kirk almost wasn't sure. 

"Captain Delaney . . . crew of the Aegis . . . welcome back." The earlier voice had been replaced. "Debriefing tomorrow afternoon at sixteen-hundred hours. Briefing room one zero eight. Commander Kopeck, will be the Officer in Charge." 

Kirk felt slightly disconcerted. They weren't finished, he thought protestingly. 

Mitchell, stretching and yawning broadly next to him, proclaimed, "Whew . . . I'm exhausted! How long have we been at this anyway?" he asked no one in particular. 

"It's seventeen hundred hours," Wellington informed them smiling. "We've been at it for almost ten hours." He turned back to his communications console and began powering down his systems. 

The others were doing likewise, familiarity with the power-down drill obvious from their sure and confident motions. 

Kirk and Mitchell began to do the same at the helm/nav. Kirk was still shaking his head. 

"Do you have a question, Jim?" Delaney's voice asked behind him. Jim . . . with the simulation over, Delaney addressed him on familiar terms. 

However, Kirk knew better than to take such license. Delaney was after all the Senior Cadet Commander in or out of the simroom. 

"I don't understand, sir," Kirk said shrugging his shoulders, his hazel eyes taking on a perplexed look. "We didn't complete the mission . . . I mean, we didn't even reach our destination. Why are we stopping now? In the middle of things?" 

Delaney smiled. "That's what I like in a member of my crew . . . spirit!" 

Wolfe called from his position at the Science Station. "Would you have us work all night without a break, Jim? The Aegis may have a crew complement of fifty, but you're not going to see them come in and relieve you." He quirked his eyebrows amused. "And the scenario isn't over, yet . . . Just today's portion." 

"That's right," broke in Wellington. "Don't worry. We still have at least one or two more shots at this particular mission . . . and thanks to some of your fancy flying today, we've survived to fight another day." 

"In fact," Zyglowicz piped up, "this is almost--but not quite-- like being on board a real ship. Crews have to get rest or they're useless . . . Same with us." 

Wisps of blonde hair had stubbornly escaped from where Zyglowicz had tied them back, producing a halo effect under the bridge lighting. A dark smudge across her right cheek capped off her appearance making her look adorable. 

Duke must be blind, Kirk thought. 

"Okay, team," called out Delaney, "listen up! I want your after action reports on my comm-board no later than zero nine-hundred hours tomorrow . . . We'll meet for a hot wash at eleven hundred in the Escape Velocity . . . Any questions? . . . No? . . . Good, you're--" 

"V. C.," Wolfe interrupted, "there's a question--no looks like *two* questions--behind you." Wolfe pointed at Mitchell and Kirk with his chin. The two first year cadets looked dumbfounded. 

Delaney nodded her acknowledgement. "Do any of the rest of you have a question?" They shook their heads no. "Jim, Mitch, do your questions require the others' presence?" Both Kirk and Mitchell shook their heads. "Okay, then, the rest of you . . . dismissed." 

When the rest of their teammates had filed out of Sim/Tac Five, Delaney invited Kirk and Mitchell to sit. 

"All right. What's the problem?" Delaney asked, smiling brightly. Since ENDEX Kirk had noticed a certain most unDelaney-like bounce in her usually self-controlled demeanor. 

Mitchell's eyes told Kirk to go first. 

"We're first year cadets," Kirk said, as if that explained everything. 

"I see," Delaney replied, seemingly weighing the information from all angles. "Well, if that's all--" she made as if to stand. 

"Don't you see?" Kirk asked, surprised that Delaney, usually so sharp, could be missing the obvious. "The Escape Velocity is *off- limits* to firsters! Remember? Gary and I won't be able to get in!" 

"Is *that* what's bothering you?" Delaney asked incredulously. "What about you, Mitch? Same thing?" Mitchell nodded. Delaney sighed. 

"Haven't you two been paying any attention these past few days? We're *supposed* to be making every effort to topple the walls of Jericho, remember? Or have you forgotten Cat-Lore's instructions already, Jim?" 

Kirk shook his head in reply. 

"Wolfman and I have already discussed the possible consequences. Either he or I . . . or the two of us together . . . will escort you in. Don't worry. Woe unto anyone who tries to mess with a member of *my* crew!" Delaney smiled the old killer grin. 

Her two charges returned the grin, Kirk with near hero-worship. Gorgeous *and* deadly! What a combination to take home to Mother! 

As they turned to go, Delaney asked, "So is the first year cadet mess as bad as I remember? I have a sudden hankering for soggy meatloaf." 

"Join us for dinner," Mitchell assured her, "and if your meatloaf *isn't* soggy when you get it, it *will* be as soon as Nasta spills something on it." 

#### 

Chapter Seventeen 

"I thought Nasta was gonna wet his pants," Mitchell said chortling. He and Kirk had just left their Transporter Theory and Technology class and were on the way to the Escape Velocity for the morning's hot wash. 

The "hot wash" was an informal round robin in which each crewmember gave his or her assessment of the previous day's exercise. Its intent was to prepare the Captain for points that might be brought up later in the official debrief with the Sim/Tac OIC. 

"I can still see him, trying to eat at attention!" Mitchell continued. "I swear, I never thought *any*thing could possibly keep Nasta from jacking his jaws." 

Kirk agreed. If there was one thing he'd learned about Nasta, it was that Nasta could be right or Nasta could be wrong, but by golly, Nasta was going to open his mouth whether others were interested in his opinion or not. 

#### 

The evening meal had actually been quite a pleasant experience-- once the rest of the other first year cadets in the mess hall had stopped gaping open-mouthed at Delaney. 

The dinner conversation had been interesting and lively for a change. Delaney had entertained her starstruck table companions with stories of her first year in the Academy. Even Nasta eventually relaxed and enjoyed himself. 

"Yep, there I was . . . hanging upside down from the rafters," Delaney spoke, smiling at the memory. "Commander Kopeck wouldn't let me within a hundred meters of the simroom for almost three weeks!" Kirk and the others broke out laughing. 

"Kopeck?" interjected Macudzinksi. "Was *he* here back then, too?" 

"Yep," Delaney nodded grinning. "He's been screaming in the faces of command track cadets for a few years now." 

"Well, you know what they say," Nasta added knowingly, "those who can do, those who can't--" 

"--Flame out," finished Kirk sighing. 

"Jim," Delaney said placatingly, "the Commandant *said* you didn't hold the record for most flame-outs . . . well, she wasn't kidding!" 

Delaney jerked her thumbs, pointing them towards herself. "Gentlemen, you're lookin' at the official title holder of the most Sim/Tac flame-outs in Academy history!" 

Kirk's eyes opened wide. "*You*!?" He couldn't believe it. 

"Sure am," Delaney admitted smiling. "Although I have high hopes that a certain fresh-faced first year cadet will close in my title soon and surpass my sterling performance," Delaney added good- naturedly. 

"Like we-all say about the weather in Texas," drawled Macudzinksi. "Just wait a few minutes, and it'll change!" Kirk threw a balled napkin at his friend's head, laughing. 

As the evening continued, Kirk noticed several other cadets surreptitiously sidling over to within hearing range of Delaney. Kirk caught her eye and silently indicated her growing audience. 

Grinning, Delaney waved them in. Smiling eagerly, several first year cadets descended on their table. Delaney encouraged them to ask questions and patiently answered as many as she could. 

"Why don't the *other* upperclassmen ever associate with us?" Cadet Sharon Anderson, one of Kirk's Federation History classmates, asked a bit wistfully. 

"How come only Mitch and Jimmy have been assigned a mentor?" asked Nasta, his arms crossed, staring somewhat enviously at his two friends. 

"Be careful what you ask for, Cadet Nasta," Delaney teased. 

"Will any of *us* be asked to participate in War Fighter?" This was asked eagerly by Cadet Javier Delgado who was proving to be a hotshot pilot. 

Delaney's like royalty holding audience, Kirk thought admiringly. She *loves* this! 

The feeling appeared mutual. The first year cadets, at first tentatively, then with growing confidence engaged Delaney in conversation about her own Academy experiences. 

At 2200 hundred hours, Delaney finally called a halt. At their sounds of disappointment, she explained good-naturedly, "Hey, reveille comes awfully early around here, and Senior Cadet Commander or not, I've gotta get up just the same as you firsters. Besides, there's a couple of cadets I know that need to get some sleep in order to challenge me on my morning run!" 

The others laughed as Kirk and Mitchell exchanged mutual looks of suffering. 

#### 

The evening had been a success, Kirk thought, smiling at the memory. Delaney had been a surprisingly pleasant guest, delighting the entire first year class with her charm and good humor. 

That was *last* night. This morning she'd set her usual Bataan Death March pace, pushing both he and Mitchell at a blistering speed through the now familiar 10k distance. 

Just another romantic San Francisco foggy morning, Kirk thought ironically. Delaney had been going so fast, that he'd literally lost sight of her a couple of times in the morning mist. 

Somehow Kirk and Mitchell had managed to keep up, crossing the finish line about six paces behind her. How does she *do* it, he wondered again. His legs were still aching. 

When Kirk and Mitchell arrived at the Escape Velocity, they were met with curious stares from the upperclassmen. 

Firsters were verboten! 

Swallowing nervously, Kirk and Mitchell looked around for their teammates. Catching sight of a blonde ponytail, they started in that direction. 

They were immediately halted by a voice they both despised. 

"And just where do you, boyos, think *you're* going?" 

Finnegan! Terrific. 

"We're meeting Senior Cadet Commander Delaney and her Sim/Tac crew for a hot wash," answered Mitchell smoothly. 

"That's 'a hot wash, *sir*'," replied Finnegan. 

"If you insist," Mitchell agreed blandly, "but, really, there's nothing in the regulation that requires you to address a first year cadet quite so formally." 

Kirk winced. Why am I surrounded by knuckleheads with death wishes? 

Finnegan went ballistic, his normally red complexion turning an apoplectic purple. 

"Why, you--!" 

Finnegan's blustering was interrupted by Delaney's quiet voice. 

"Really, Finnegan. Why don't you crawl back into your cave and discover fire or something?" 

Finnegan whirled. "Oh no, you don't, Delaney!" he replied triumphantly. "This time *I'm* right. The rules are clear! No first year cadets allowed in the Escape Velocity!" 

"That's Senior Cadet Commander Delaney to you, Finnegan . . . It's interesting that you should mention *rules* . . . I seem to recall your name cropping up again for Captain's Mast for rules violations." She smiled coldly. "I'm the Cadet Prosecutor." 

Finnegan swallowed, but remained undeterred. 

"You can't threaten me. You *know* I'm right!" 

"Finnegan," Delaney sighed, shaking her head in mild annoyance, "I swear, you are living proof that light really *is* faster than sound." At his look of confusion, she explained patiently, "You *look* bright from a distance, until we hear you speak." 

Delaney addressed the Escape Velocity in general. 

"Cadets Kirk and Mitchell are part of my War Fighter crew. They are here under *my* orders. If you have any complaints, take them before the Cadet Board . . . But let me assure you . . . changes are taking place at the Academy . . . good changes in my view." 

Taking a long, cold sweep of the senior cadets present, Delaney added, "I suggest you reevaluate your high opinions of yourselves and do something useful . . . like volunteer for the Commandant's Mentoring Program and mentor a first year cadet . . . Not treat them like second class citizens . . . You may just be surprised." 

Delaney turned back to Kirk and Mitchell and jerked her head indicating they follow her. 

"That was pleasant," uttered Mitchell. Kirk nodded in silent agreement. 

#### 

Chapter Eighteen 

The sixteen hundred-hour debriefing went almost exactly as expected with one exception. Commander Kopeck actually congratulated the Aegis' crew for their brilliant assessment of the tactical situation. 

"Captain Delaney, you and your crew's foresight saved your mission from being scrapped at the outset. Keep it up!" With that Commander Kopeck dismissed the crew. 

Emerging from the debriefing, Zyglowicz was speaking in excited tones, " . . . Duke, we've gotta get together to reprogram your comm- board. I've already written the protocols--" 

Wellington, nodding distractedly, checked his wrist chronometer and looked up quickly. 

"Yawp! Almost nineteen hundred! Gotta go, gang! Much as I like you, the lady's waiting!" 

Yanking affectionately on Zyglowicz' ponytail, Wellington turned to go. 

"Hey, listen, shortstop, we'll get together later, okay?" Without waiting for a reply, Wellington waved and called over his shoulder, "See ya!" 

Kirk glanced surreptitiously in Zyglowicz' direction. She was valiantly finding something else to look at. 

What's the *matter* with that guy? 

"Hey, since we've missed the mess hour," Zyglowicz began a bit too brightly, the others groaned in mock sorrow, "why don't we go into China Town and try to get a bite?" 

"That's a supremo idea, Zee-girl," Fletcher replied, "but I'm afraid, I won't be able to make it. I've got a hot date with a computer terminal." 

At their questioning looks, Fletcher explained, "Warp Containment Fields final exam . . . It's in five weeks, and I'm not sure I have it down yet . . . I'll grab a sandwich at the Escape Velocity . . . have fun without me, though!" 

Mitchell spoke up next. "I'm afraid I'll have to beg off, too." Kirk looked at him surprised. "No offense, but like the Duke said, the lady's waiting. See you later, Jimmy . . . uh--don't wait up!" he added, playfully tapping Kirk on the cheek. 

Smiling, Delaney said, "Well, it looks like it's just us four, then! Come on. David and I know a great restaurant in China Town. We've eaten there before." 

*David*? Kirk thought jealously. He'd forgotten Wolfe's real name. He and Zyglowicz followed their two companions. Kirk thought that Wolfe was walking just a tad too closely to Delaney. 

To Kirk's envious dismay, he saw Wolfe lightly touch Delaney's hand; then she closed hers around Wolfe's. 

Kirk felt as if his stomach had just bottomed out. Disappointed, he chose to be philosophical instead. After all, it wasn't exactly unexpected. What had he thought? That Delaney would fall madly for a kid almost six years her junior . . . and, one with the cornhusks still growing from his ears, no less? 

Oh, please! 

Delaney and the Wolfman. Kirk shook his head. Might've known. 

Well, at least it isn't Duke, he thought. I don't figure Delaney for the pretty boy type. 

Zyglowicz kept distracting his ruminations, however; she was acting annoyingly animated as they walked to the nearest civilian commuter transport terminal. 

"Where did you learn to [censored] *fly* like that anyway, Jim? I mean . . . you were [censored] totally impressive!" 

Zyglowicz' language burned blisters in Kirk's ears. Ouch! Mom would've washed his mouth out with soap if he'd so much as *thought* about saying such words, much less actually doing so. 

Kirk found it difficult to concentrate on the meaning of what Zyglowicz was saying. The words she was using kept getting in the way. 

Zyglowicz emphasized her point with a particularly descriptive metaphor that Kirk had never even heard while growing up on a farm in Riverside, Iowa. 

Whoa! Even *Nasta* had never used *that* word. Kirk had to stop this assault on his sensibilities--now! 

"Excuse me, Zee . . . no offense intended, but would you mind not using such . . . uh . . . colorful language? I mean . . . it's kind of crude . . . for a . . . ahh-h . . . Starfleet officer . . . Don't you think?" 

Kirk had been about to say "lady" but caught himself in time. The last thing he wanted to do was insult Zyglowicz. He really liked her, despite her extreme language. 

"What the [censored] do you mean by that?" Zyglowicz asked offended. 

Didn't work, Kirk thought chagrinned. Well the direct method always worked best anyway. 

"I mean you don't *have* to keep peppering your sentences with such . . . shall we say . . . vivid vernacularism!" 

"Jim Kirk, are you saying there's something wrong with the [censored] way I *speak*?" 

"No . . . Now see," Kirk said giving her his most charming smile, "I said I didn't want to give any offense, and here you are taking offense . . . All I said is that you don't have to emphasize your meaning with such scatological speech--" 

"Scata . . . scata--illogical . . . whatever you said . . . What's *wrong* with the way I speak!" 

Zyglowicz had stopped walking and stood in front of Kirk, speaking in a raised voice, jabbing his chest for emphasis. 

"Nothing's *wrong*!" Kirk shot back exasperatedly, throwing up his arms. He matched her loud tone decibel for decibel. "Nothing's wrong, that is, if you're an Orion Pirate! But you're *not*! You're a Starfleet cadet, and mighty pretty one at that!" 

Kirk didn't notice the stunned effect his last words had had on Zyglowicz. 

"Why do you want to ruin your whole image by using words that would make a Klingon warrior blush? A pretty girl like you shouldn't have such an ugly mouth!" 

Kirk sighed. 

"Look, I'm sorry," he apologized. "I shouldn't have said anything. It's just that, you shouldn't try so hard to be equal with guys by showing you can spew filth with the worst of them. You're a brilliant engineer. That's all the proof you need." 

Zyglowicz shook her head sadly. 

"You're wrong, Jim. It should be enough, but it's not. The other engineering cadets--all men . . . I've been going through the class with them for almost four years now and they still haven't accepted me." 

Zyglowicz's eyes dropped down. 

"In their eyes, I'm just a silly girl pretending to know warp fields and matter/anti-matter drives. They act as if I'm *so* cute!" She made a gagging gesture. "It's enough to make me barf!" 

Kirk smiled, and gently lifted her chin with his forefinger; his warm green-flecked hazel eyes met her wide cornflower blue. 

"Well, they may have eyes, but they sure can't see." 

Stepping back, Kirk took a long, lingering assessment of her petite, and shapely form. 

Smiling suggestively he added, "Engineers are only interested in how a ship works. Command officers are interested in how they handle." 

Zyglowicz smiled in turn. 

Thrusting out her hand, she offered it as a sign of peace. 

"Friends?" Zyglowicz asked. 

"Friends," Kirk replied, taking her hand in his. 

"So are you two going to stand there holding hands all night, or we going to go get something to eat?" Delaney and Wolfe were smiling amusedly at them. 

Embarrassed, both Kirk and Zyglowicz dropped their hands as if they were burning. Careful not to look at each other, they followed Delaney and Wolfe into the commuter transport. 

Delaney and Wolfe exchanged amused grins. "Kids," she said, shaking her head. 

#### 

Chapter Nineteen 

"It wouldn't work!" Zyglowicz said again, exasperatedly. 

"You don't know that," Kirk replied evenly. "Anyway, it's just a theory . . . a *plausible* theory, I might add!" 

Kirk and Zyglowicz were so caught up in their discussion that they'd forgotten their two companions. Finally, Delaney interrupted them. 

"Listen you two, it's getting time to return to campus. The last civilian transport leaves in fifteen minutes." 

Zyglowicz nodded distractedly still engrossed in her counter- argument. 

"Sure, but who'd be crazy enough to try it? I mean, implode the matter/anti-matter engines to reach escape velocity?" she shook her head. "You'd be history." 

Exasperated, Delaney tried again, "Earth to Cadets Zyglowicz and Kirk . . . the final shuttle will be leaving port in one five minutes and counting . . . " 

"Actually, there's a five percent chance that it would work," Kirk argued. 

Delaney sighed and looked at Wolfe. "Come on. I think they'll be able to find their way home before next week." Wolfe smiled in return. 

"What kind of odds are those?" Zyglowicz said, snorting derisively at his nonsense. 

"The kind of odds a Captain has to take a chance on if he's to save his crew . . . Look, I'm not saying that this is the first choice anyone should make, but if the situation is *desperate* enough, if the ship faces *certain* annihilation, and if there are no other options available, then . . . I don't know about you . . . but I'd rather have a five percent shot at survival, than a one hundred percent certainty at inescapable obliteration." 

Zyglowicz looked up him with new respect. 

"You sure are an interesting character, Jim Kirk. Only fifteen years old and you've already managed to save one planet . . . You're a top-notch Academy cadet, you don't drink--well, you're not *old* enough to drink, yet, so that doesn't count--you don't swear, and you're an overall nice guy." 

She cocked an eyebrow. 

"You know what your problem is? You don't have one single redeeming vice! You're just too good to be true!" 

Kirk smiled his devastating smile. "I'll be *sixteen* in two weeks." 

Zyglowicz held her hands up mockingly. "Ooh, I can hear women across the Federation sharpening their claws and jockeying for positions on the starting line!" 

They became suddenly aware that they were alone in their booth. 

"Hey, where'd everybody go?" Zyglowicz looked around shocked. Glancing at her wrist chronometer, she called out desperately, "The last civilian transport leaves in two minutes! We'll never make it!" 

Kirk smiled, relaxed. "It's a clear night. Let's walk. The campus isn't that far . . . I've *run* farther with Delaney each morning this past week." 

#### 

Later that evening, walking slowly hand in hand along a well- manicured path, Kirk escorted Zyglowicz to her quarters. He inhaled deeply, noting the clean, distinct sea-smell of San Francisco Bay as if for the first time. For once, the stars weren't obscured by fog. 

It was a rare, clear, moonlit San Francisco night. 

Working up his courage, Kirk gently pulled Zyglowicz' hand, stopping her in mid-stride. Gently caressing her face with his fingertips, Kirk looked straight into her eyes, bent down and kissed her tenderly. 

Zyglowicz returned his kiss, shyly at first, then with growing eagerness. Tasting her tentatively, then with increasing desire, Kirk slowly wrapped his arms around her small waist drawing her closely to him. 

Releasing her after an infinite time, Kirk's green-flecked hazel eyes smiled down into Zyglowicz' cornflower blue. She smiled happily in turn. 

Kirk could just make out her pert ponytail in the moonlight. On impulse, he reached behind her, and gently released her hair. It fell in cascades over her shoulders, longer than he'd anticipated. 

She's beautiful, Kirk breathed. How has she managed to hide it all this time? 

Impulsively taking her face in his hands, Kirk kissed her eyes, then her chin . . . hmm-mm her nose looks lonely . . . I'll take care of that, he thought, planting a kiss on the tip of her nose. 

Giggling at his eagerness, Zyglowicz pointed out different parts of her face for attention. 

"I really don't think--" (kiss) "--that 'Zee' fits you." (kiss) "A beautiful girl--" (kiss) "--like you--" (kiss) "--should be called- -" (kiss) "--by a beautiful name." (a deeper kiss) "May I call you Ruth?" 

Kirk spoke breathlessly; hazel eyes a smoldering green. At her nod, he smiled tenderly, holding her carefully as if she were something fragile. 

"You sure are beautiful, Ruth. Has anyone ever told you?" 

Zyglowicz shook her head; her eyes bright from unshed tears. "No," she whispered. 

"Then I've just lost all respect for the Senior Cadet class. It's populated by a bunch of seriously mentally deficient males." 

Gallantly taking her arm, Kirk walked Zyglowicz back to her quarters. At her door, he kissed her again deeply, lingeringly. He waited until she was safely inside, then turned, heading back to his own quarters, humming softly off key, "I'm always chasing rainbows . . . " 

#### 

Chapter Twenty 

His dreams were populated with sea-green eyes smiling sadly from above. Abruptly, the painful memories evoked by Amavia were replaced by vibrant cornflower blue eyes. 

A pert ponytail bobbing with each movement of her head; a golden halo surrounding her in a reverent aura. A girlish smile turned shyly in his direction; her nose scrunched impishly, a dark smudge adding charm to her delightful image. 

Zyglowicz' arms reaching eagerly for him. Enveloping him in their sensuousness. His passion aroused, Kirk abruptly awoke. 

He sat up his elbows, his sleep shirt soaked through with sweat. 

Whew! Brother, do *you* need a cold shower, he told himself sheepishly. He looked around. Mitchell hadn't returned last night. Typical. 

Seeing his Mom's holo-image seemingly staring accusingly at him from his desktop, Kirk said aloud, "We only had dinner together, for crying out loud, and a short walk home . . . Okay, okay! We shared a few kisses, but that's hardly breaking my word!" 

He fell back in bed, exhaling sharply, and stared up at the ceiling, remembering the night before. 

Kirk wasn't sure how he felt. He knew he liked Zyglowicz, that he was attracted to her, but was there anything more? He hadn't known her long enough to be in love with her. At least, that's what his short experience in the romance department kept telling him. 

"So what is it then?" Kirk asked reprimanding himself. Frustrated, he turned on his stomach and buried his head under his pillow. "Sex? Am I just like Nasta after all? Meet a pretty girl, kiss her, and bed her? I've *gotta* think I'm better than that!" 

He shook his head in denial, and sitting up, threw his pillow across the room in irritation. 

"But, boy, that sure was *some* dream." 

Criss-crossing his legs in annoyance, Kirk placed his elbows on his knees and his chin on his fists. 

He'd only been half-jesting when he'd informed Zyglowicz that his sixteenth birthday was two weeks away. It was actually in ten days. 

Technically he'd be old enough to drive a ground vehicle and, in his mother's eyes, date. Glancing over at his parents' holo-image, Kirk smiled in affectionate amusement, recalling his mother's final stipulation after signing the age waiver. 

Winona Kirk had insisted that her youngest son was *not* to date any of those Academy *women* before he turned sixteen. She made the female cadets sound like sexual predators ready to eat her baby. 

Raising his right hand and placing his left over his heart, Kirk had given her his most solemn vow. "Mom, I swear to remain virtuous and pure until the clock strikes twelve on my sixteenth birthday." 

He and his Dad had burst into laughter at his nonsense, but his Mom had remained unsmiling. Kirk had relented then and given her his word again. This time in earnest. 

"Mom, I'm gonna be so busy my first year, I probably won't have time to *think* about girls, much less date them." Hugging her easily, he added, "Besides, who'd be interested in me?" 

"Anyone with eyes," his Mom replied sarcastically. 

Remembering that occasion, Kirk said wryly, "Somehow I don't think that when Mom said I could date when I turned sixteen, she also meant *and have sex, too*." 

I've *gotta* call Sam, he thought suddenly. He'll know what I should do. 

Whoa, there farm boy! Sam's on Deneva, married with a wife and everything. He doesn't have the time to worry about your overactive hormones. 

Besides, Mom and Dad brought you up to be a gentleman, darn it. That means you take things slowly, and let the lady lead. 

This isn't a War Fighter exercise. Ruth isn't a target to be acquired and destroyed. She's a beautiful angel who let me kiss her last night . . . Hardly a license for going any further. 

Then again . . . 

"Who knows, Jimmy-boy," Kirk said, lying back down again, his hands behind his head, staring straight up. A dazzling smile lit his young, handsome features. 

"You just *might* get lucky on your birthday!" 

#### 

Chapter Twenty-one 

Almost dozing off again, Kirk was suddenly awakened by the door buzzer. He groaned. Mitchell forgot his passkey again! Reaching behind his head, Kirk felt for then found the door release. 

"Come in, you lamebrain!" he called. "How often do I have to tell you to remember to take your passkey?" 

"I take it this means that Cadet Mitchell is not in his quarters?" 

Kirk shot out of his bunk in a flash! Who the hell--? 

Commander Kopeck and another officer whom Kirk didn't recognize, wearing SAS insignia, stood just inside the open doorway. 

"Sir, I'm sorry, sir! I mean, no sir! I mean, Cadet Mitchell isn't in his quarters, sir!" 

Kirk stood shivering barefoot on the cold tiled floor. What was Kopeck doing here . . . in *his* quarters . . . on a non-duty day? 

"At ease, Cadet Kirk!" Kopeck spoke sharply. 

Okay, not a social call. 

"I need you to get dressed ASAP. You're to accompany Lieutenant Okazaki to the Commandant's Honor Board. Do you have any idea where Cadet Mitchell might be?" 

"No, sir!" 

"When's the last time you *saw* Mitchell?" 

"Sir! Last night immediately following the debriefing!" 

"Did he say where he was going?" 

"Sir! Cadet Mitchell said, I believe, 'The lady's waiting' and 'don't wait up for me.' That's the last I saw of him, sir." 

"I see. Very well, Cadet Kirk. Shower and dress. Lieutenant Okazaki will escort you." 

"Yes, sir!" Kirk immediately gathered his toiletry articles, a change of underwear, a clean uniform, and stepped into the bathroom. 

What the *hell* was going on? 

#### 

Delaney, Wolfe, and Wellington were already seated in the outer waiting room when Kirk was escorted in. 

"Take a seat, Cadet Kirk. You're on your *honor* not to talk amongst yourselves," Lieutenant Okazaki informed them ironically. With that, the SAS officer turned and left the room. 

Soon, they were joined by the rest of the Aegis' crew: Fletcher, Mitchell, and finally, trying to appear brave, Zyglowicz. 

Kirk made a move to rise, but a warning look from Delaney instantly stopped him. Zyglowicz sat as far from her teammates as possible. Although she was making a courageous attempt to appear calm and self-possessed, Kirk could see telltale signs of crying; occasionally, her chin trembled slightly. 

It took all of the personal self-discipline Kirk could muster to keep from jumping up and taking her in his arms. 

Why were they here? Why had they all been brought before the Honor Board? For the life of him, Kirk couldn't think of a single reason. He didn't know anything about the cheating scandal. Just the rumor and innuendo that were currently wending their way around campus. 

But he didn't know any *facts*! 

Kirk was deathly worried. Even facing Kodos on that rooftop all those months ago hadn't left him feeling this apprenhensive. 

The Sergeant at Arms appeared at the door to the council room. "Cadet James J. Fletcher." 

Fletcher jumped to his feet. 

"Sir!" 

"Report to the Commandant's Honor Board." 

"Yes, sir!" Fletcher stepped smartly through the door. It closed with a resounding thud immediately behind him. 

A half-hour later, the door re-opened, and Fletcher marched grimly through the room where his teammates were waiting tensely, and without a sideways glance, disappeared out the exit. 

The imposing figure of the Sergeant at Arms appeared once more at the entrance to the council chamber. 

"Cadet Laurence J. Wellington." 

"Sir!" Wellington snapped to attention. 

"Report to the Commandant's Honor Board." 

"Yes, sir!" Wellington, back and shoulders straight, eyes directly ahead, moved crisply through the threshold. 

The morning proceeded in this manner. The door opened, a member of the Aegis crew marched out, the Sergeant at Arms appeared, another crewmember was called forth, the remaining cadets continued to cool their heels, and the whole process was repeated. 

Finally, only Kirk and Delaney remained outside. Kirk could feel his heart rate increasing with each passing second. Wolfe was inside at the moment. He'd been at it for almost forty-five minutes. 

At last, the doors opened and Wolfe, looking straight ahead, walked out. Delaney studiously avoided looking at him. Kirk knew exactly how she felt. He'd wanted to take Zyglowicz in his arms when she'd made the long trek out the door. 

The Sergeant at Arms made his inevitable appearance. "Cadet James T. Kirk!" 

"Sir!" Kirk stood smartly, resigned to the inevitable. 

"Report to the Commandant's Honor Board." 

"Yes, sir!" Swallowing nervously, Kirk straightened his tunic and began the dreaded walk. 

The committee room's harsh lighting made Kirk wince. The stern countenances of the Honor Board stared at him, coldly, unflinchingly. 

Taking hold of his churning emotions, Kirk stepped crisply to within three feet of the Board Chairman, a neutral command grade officer, a Captain in this case, whom Starfleet Command had appointed. 

"Sir! Cadet James T. Kirk reports to the Commandant's Honor Board as ordered!" 

"Please take your seat, Cadet Kirk," replied the chairman. "Cadet Kirk, our intention today is not to intimidate or in anywise have you admit to anything other than the absolute truth as you know it. Do you understand?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Good. As a start, let me introduce myself and the other members of the board. To my far left is Commander Kwaku Nkengi . . . next is Commander Chance McClanahan . . . to my immediate right is Commander Tierney Rickenbach . . . and next to her, Commander Christopher Hume. I'm Captain Scott Arrowsmith." 

Captain Arrowsmith! The Marauder Squadron Commander along the Klingon Neutral Zone. "Straight-Arrow Smith" and his Marauder Squadron were a growing legend. Kirk's Dad and Uncle Bob knew him and spoke highly of him and his exploits. 

"Cadet Kirk, you have an exemplary record. Your actions on Tarsus Four are known to each of us . . . Before we begin, may I say that it is indeed an honor, young man, to finally meet you. I know your father well . . . a fine officer. I'm only sorry that it couldn't be under more pleasant circumstances." 

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," Kirk couldn't believe what Arrowsmith had just said. An *honor* to meet *me*? 

"Very well. Cadet Kirk, Commander Nkengi will read the rules of the proceedings. Please listen carefully . . . If you have any questions, or if there is a point you do not fully understand, feel free to ask for elaboration . . . Commander Nkengi." 

Nkengi nodded his acknowledgment. 

"Cadet Kirk, you are to answer all questions put forth to you as truthfully and accurately as possible . . . Your answers will be truth-verified through voice analysis by computer . . . Are you aware of how the system works?" 

"Yes, sir," Kirk answered hoarsely. 

"To demonstrate the ninety-nine point nine nine accuracy of the truth-verifier, please answer the following questions falsely: Is your name James Tiberius Kirk?" 

"No." The computer's mechanical voice immediately interrupted. 

"Incorrect." 

"Are you currently fifteen years, eleven months, and twenty days old?" 

"No." 

"Incorrect." 

"Are you currently enrolled in Starfleet Academy?" 

"No." 

"Incorrect." 

"Do you know why you were called before the Honor Board today?" 

"Yes." 

"Incorrect." 

"Very well, Cadet Kirk," Nkengi stated. "Are you satisfied with the veracity of the voice analyzer?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Incorrect." 

Kirk looked at the analyzer with mild annoyance. 

Arrowsmith studiously kept his eyes on his notes lying in front of him. Kirk could swear that he looked like he was biting the inside of his mouth. A friend maybe? Or, at least, *not* an enemy. 

Kirk began to relax for the first time since entering the chamber. 

#### 

Chapter Twenty-two 

" . . . Tell us again, Cadet Kirk," Commander Richenbach's droning tones went on, "*why* were you and Cadet Mitchell out on the PT field on a non-PT day?" 

Kirk groaned inwardly. How *long* had they been at it? 

"Like I said before, sir," Kirk replied tiredly, "we woke up early, and instead of going back to sleep, we decided we might as well report early to the PT field . . . As I explained before, neither of us had bothered to check the training schedule so we didn't *know* that the company wasn't forming for PT." 

How many times would he have to answer the *same* question? 

" . . . And Cadet Delaney. When exactly did she join you and Cadet Mitchell?" Commander McClanahan. 

Once again. 

"Cadet Mitchell and I had been on the field almost ten or fifteen minutes. We were doing our warm-ups when she startled us." 

"Why *startled*, Cadet Kirk? Were you doing something you shouldn't have been doing?" 

"NO, sir! Of COURSE not!" Kirk replied indignantly, exhaustion and hunger combining to make him irritable and disrespectful. "I'm sorry, sir," Kirk said, lowering his voice, "that won't happen again." 

Swallowing to steady his nerves, he explained. 

"Cadet Mitchell was showing me how to do a stretching exercise that he claimed was simple. By the time I got into the necessary position, I was about as twisted as a pretzel. When Cadet Delaney spoke, she startled me because I was concentrating on not killing myself." Looking Arrowsmith straight in the eye, he added, "And that's the simple truth, sir!" 

"Very well, Cadet," Commander Hume this time. They must be playing Prosecutor Tag, Kirk thought sardonically. "Whose idea was it to go the gravity-gym then?" 

Kirk sighed again. Same question; same answer. 

"Cadet Delaney, sir. She said it was her normal day for her g- room workout." 

"And why did you and Cadet Mitchell accompany her?" Back to Nkengi. 

"Because she's the Senior Cadet Commander, sir, and because Commandant Lorraine had just assigned her to be my mentor the previous day. Either reason seemed sufficient to me." 

"When you entered the Fitness Center complex, Cadet Kirk, what was the first indication you had of trouble?" Captain Arrowsmith, himself. This was only the second question he'd personally asked, leaving the hatchet job to his minions. 

"When we walked in, Cadet Mitchell began to act strangely. He looked like he was going to faint at first, so I helped him to the floor. Then he started muttering nonsense about someone being hurt in the gym . . . I didn't take the time to ask questions, sir . . . I just reacted . . . I ran to the g-room . . . found it in use . . . activated the override . . . and found Cadet Merrick. I called for a med-team . . . That's all, sir, I swear!" 

"You say Cadet Mitchell was muttering *nonsense*, Cadet Kirk, and yet you chose to run and investigate . . . Why is that?" McClanahan. Surprise, surprise. 

Kirk sighed. 

"Because I already suspected that there was more to Cadet Mitchell than he'd openly admitted . . . I don't know . . . like times when he seemed to know what I was about to say, before I said it . . . or how he knew just what to say to me when I was feeling particularly low . . . And the Sims . . . when he and I teamed at helm/nav, it was like reaching a whole new level of consciousness. I mean I'm talking about some extraordinary Sim/Tac scores! . . . and this with *me* the current leader of Sim/Tac flameouts!" 

Kirk shrugged his broad shoulders, his exhaustion giving him a vulnerable, little boy-lost look, which was further enhanced by the stubborn lock of hair that always seemed to fall over his eyes despite his best efforts. He looked and felt like what he was, a fifteen-year- old boy playing grown-up games. 

Kirk dejectedly looked down at a spot just two feet in front of Captain Arrowsmith. Because of this, he missed the sympathetic look that briefly crossed Arrowsmith's face. 

"Do you have anything else to add, Cadet Kirk?" Arrowsmith's quiet voice jerked him back. 

He shook his head tiredly. "No, sir." 

"Very well, Cadet Kirk. Thank you for your cooperation. Be aware that this investigation is still on going. Therefore, you are on your honor not to speak of or in any way discuss the details of this meeting. Do you have any questions?" 

Kirk began to shake his head, no, then on second thought changed his mind. 

"Yes, sir, there is." He felt a brief moment of triumph at their look of surprise. Gotcha! 

"What's your question, Cadet?" asked Arrowsmith. 

"Sir, the questions you've been asking me . . . they just don't figure . . . What I mean is, if all you want to know is about us finding Merrick in the g-room, then why bring in the entire crew of the Aegis? It doesn't make sense . . . Sir, what's *really* going on?" 

Arrowsmith gazed with open respect at the Academy's youngest cadet. "Did you know that your Dad used to bore the rest of us to tears with his constant bragging about his two boys?" 

Kirk shook his head, confused by the digression. 

"Especially about you. It was always Jimmy-this and Jimmy-that. I figured that one day I'd be working for you the way he always carried on." Resting his chin on his right hand, Arrowsmith gazed at Kirk with obvious amusement. 

"George always said how you were way too precocious for your years . . . the fact that you're standing here in front of me wearing that uniform is proof of that . . . Your razor-sharp instincts are further evidence." 

"I don't understand, sir," Kirk said helplessly shaking his head. What did his *Dad* have to do with this? 

"A serious breach of Academy security occurred almost nine days ago. The plans and scenario for this year's War Fighter were stolen. Furthermore, Cadet Merrick's injuries in the g-room were not accidental. Someone deliberately set the gravity to twenty times earth-normal. Another few seconds and Cadet Merrick would have been crushed to death." 

Kirk's eyes widened, stunned! 

"The crew of the Aegis has been brought in for questioning, because one of the War Fighter's scenarios was downloaded to your simulator's onboard computer." 

Arrowsmith gave Kirk a long hard look. 

"In other words, Cadet Kirk, the supposed War Fighter Trainer that you and your crewmates were simulating, was no trainer; it was the real thing!" 

At Kirk's look of utter disbelief--how could such a thing happen, he thought, there were too many safeguards!--Arrowsmith nodded his head and continued. 

"SAS is investigating the Sim/Tac OIC offices for a possible security leak there. They are also investigating the attempted murder of Cadet Merrick." 

Kirk felt too numbed to react any further. 

"I've been assigned by Starfleet Command to conduct an independent investigation into the original cheating scandal involving Cadet Merrick," continued Arrowsmith. "My investigation has now expanded to include this latest incident." 

Kirk felt like the wind had been knocked from him. This was unbelievable! 

"I'm telling you this, Cadet Kirk, because I respect your father, and I respect you. However, everything I've told you is in the strictest confidence. I repeat my earlier admonitions: You are under no circumstances to discuss this with *any*one. Do I make myself clear?" 

Kirk nodded dumbly. Then remembering where he was, and most importantly, who he was, Kirk stood, snapped to attention, and answered crisply, "Yes, sir!" 

"You're dismissed, Cadet Kirk. Sergeant at Arms, escort Cadet Kirk out of the chambers and call forth Cadet Velvet C. Delaney." 

Kirk emerged from the council chambers feeling like he'd been keelhauled. He glanced briefly at Delaney, and then looking straight ahead exited the waiting room. 

#### 

Chapter Twenty-three 

The next few days were nightmarish, a funhouse hall of mirrors. Nothing seemed as it should be . . . everything appeared distorted in Kirk's perception. 

Officially, the Aegis crew might be considered innocent until proven guilty, but having been hauled before the Honor Board condemned them in the eyes of their classmates. 

Nothing like a cheating scandal to find out who your friends were. Surprisingly, Macudzinksi and Nasta each proved loyal. At breakfast, Nasta dared anyone with less than friendly intentions from approaching their table. 

"The way I see it," Nasta opined, "whoever stole War Fighter sold it for a high price and is long gone by now." 

Macudzinksi cocked an eyebrow in Nasta's direction. "And who, except Academy cadets, would be interested in War Fighter, for crying out loud?" 

"I don't know . . . whoever the OPFOR-of-the-day happens to be, I guess." 

Nasta looked at three pairs of skeptical eyes. 

"Well, you never know . . . I mean . . . well, look, if you're the military strategist of a known Federation enemy, or at least a Federation non-friend, wouldn't *you* want to know what the Federation knows, or at least, *thinks* it knows about you?" 

Macudzinksi shook his head in disgust. 

"Nasty, just *listen* to yourself, boy. You're makin' as much sense as an ol' mule my Daddy finally decided to have put to sleep. Daddy said that that mule was just too stupid to let live a moment longer. 'Course, Mama stepped in and wouldn't let Daddy do any such thing, but we had to finally get rid of it. Daddy said something about *either the mule goes, or I do*. Mama had to think about it for a couple days, though." 

"Zinc, what the hell are you talking about?" Nasta looked like he'd bitten into a lemon. The two continued their argument. 

Kirk and Mitchell looked at each other in tolerant amusement. Their two friends were deliberately acting up, trying to relieve the tension. 

Ironically, it seemed that the only people on campus who were officially restricted from discussing the issue were the members of the Aegis crew. The subject was on everyone *else's* lips however. Somehow the facts from the investigation had managed to leak out. 

Kirk could feel accusing stares follow him wherever he went. 

Exhausted from lack of sleep and frustrated by the official gag order, Kirk knew that he was set to explode at any given moment. 

The previous night he'd received a call from his Mom. His already strained emotions almost snapped then. 

"Jimmy, you know your father and I are behind you. *We* know you're no more capable of doing any of these things than . . . " she'd paused, shrugging her shoulders, unable to come up with a suitable hyperbole. "Well, you know what I mean." 

Winona smiled fondly. Her green-flecked hazel eyes, a mirror to her son's, looked helplessly, sadly across the distance separating them. 

"Georgie and Aurelan send their love and support." 

*Georgie* was Kirk's older brother, George Samuel Kirk, Jr.; only his younger brother called him by his middle name, Sam. 

"Georgie says he'll personally rearrange the sub-nucleic particles of anyone who accuses his kid brother of cheating. He also advises that you hang in--everything will turn out fine." 

"Thanks, Mom," Kirk managed to choke out. If only he could agree with Sam's opinion. Kirk had never wanted so much to come home before. 

Recalling the litany he and Mitchell called in cadence while running, "A quitter never wins; a winner never quits," Kirk knew, however, that he would *never* resign. 

They'd have to kick him out of the Academy . . . and he wouldn't go easily! 

Subspace communiques from his Dad and Uncle Bob (Aunt Sarah also sent her love) were waiting on his comm-board later the next day. 

His family's love and support helped bolster Kirk's flagging spirits somewhat, but he knew that only time would tell whether he survived the tempests raging around him. 

All it would take was one more snide remark, one more passing smirk, and he wouldn't be responsible for his actions. A cold anger was building to redline fury. He was downright ready to strike back-- violently! 

Feeling restless after receiving his father's subspace message, Kirk impulsively paid an unexpected visit to Zyglowicz' quarters. Already in hot water, he figured things couldn't get much worse if he was caught breaking curfew. Arriving at her door, Kirk hesitated. 

What would he say? Except for that evening when he'd walked her to her door, Zyglowicz had never invited him up here. She certainly hadn't intimated that she'd even let him in. But he had to see her, to talk to her, to be with her. He felt an urgent need to hold on to someone who didn't have accusing eyes. 

Working up his resolve, Kirk buzzed the door. 

Zyglowicz' startled look caused him to mentally kick himself. What had he been *thinking*? 

"Jimmy! What are you *doing* here? It's after curfew!" Zyglowicz grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him into her quarters. 

She was wearing a terry cloth bathrobe and had obviously just stepped out of the shower. Her blonde tresses were wet and freshly combed out; her hair was beginning to wisp and curl around the edges as she let it air dry. 

Gosh, she was so beautiful, Kirk thought, nervously trying not to stare. 

"What are you *doing* here?" Zyglowicz repeated. "We're all ready in so much trouble. You don't *need* anymore!" 

"I'm sorry," Kirk mumbled, looking at his feet, suddenly feeling like a farm boy. "I--I just had to see you. See how you were . . . " He shrugged lamely. 

"Jimmy . . . " Zyglowicz looked at him compassionately. "You're so sweet . . . I wish . . . I wish . . . " She moved away unable to finish her statement. 

She walked over to her window, and stood watching the lights from the Golden Gate Bridge winking in the distance. She could see the darkness of the inevitable fog as it began to roll in, obscuring the mouth of the bay. Shivering suddenly, she hugged her arms to herself. 

Kirk came up behind her, and hesitantly placed his hands on her arms. Zyglowicz immediately felt herself responding, aware of his masculine closeness. This was *so* wrong! Jimmy wasn't even sixteen yet! She had to stay in control. 

Kirk's arms gradually encircled Zyglowicz, her back still to him. He leaned down, his face caressing hers. He kissed her first on the neck, then began moving up the side of her face. Feeling herself on fire, Zyglowicz turned her face to meet his halfway. 

They kissed fully, deeply. 

Finally, Zyglowicz turned completely, her face upturned to his. They kissed lingeringly, eagerly, their passion aroused. A tiny niggling voice began to work its way through her conscience. No! I've got to *stop* this! I can't *do* this! It's *wrong*! 

Calling on all of the will power she could muster, Zyglowicz placed her hands on Kirk's chest and pushed him away. The look of hurt confusion on his face almost did her in. 

Turning from him, tears beginning to form, she curled up, ashamed of herself, on her tiny couch. 

"Jimmy . . . I'm sorry . . . I just can't! It isn't *right*! *I'm* not right . . . for you! Please understand . . ." 

Crouching next to her, Kirk took her hand in his and kissed it gently. 

"I *don't* understand," he whispered hoarsely. "All I know is that I can't stop thinking of you. I admit that I don't have much experience with girls. The other guys are always talking about it . . . make it sound like some kind of a game where they keep score." 

He reached up and pushed her hair gently from her face. 

"But I know that that isn't what I want. I want the real thing . . . like what my Mom and Dad have, or my brother and his wife." 

Kirk sat up next to her, considerate of her space, but dangerously close. 

"I know that you think I'm too young for you . . . that I'm just a kid, I guess . . . but I promise you, Ruth, I don't feel like a kid right now." 

Her back was stiffly to him. She was sitting with her arms tightly around her knees, her head down. Her look of absolute dejection tore at him. 

"I don't know what I feel for you, Ruth. But I know that whenever I think of you, I start to smile. Thinking of you makes me happy . . . I don't know why . . . maybe it's that ridiculous ponytail you're always wearing . . . but it's the reason I had to come and see you." 

Kirk moved closer, taking her carefully in his arms, placing his chin on her damp hair. 

"If love is someone who makes you smile and makes you happy, then love can't be such a bad thing, can it?" 

"You're wrong, Jimmy," Zyglowicz whispered. "Love doesn't make you happy. It makes you miserable . . . to the point that you cry yourself to sleep every night . . . *when* you can sleep . . ." 

Zyglowicz leaned back tiredly, wanting to be held by this beautiful, sweet boy who wanted so much to adore her. 

"Most of the time you're laughing at the cruel joke life's dealt you. You hear about happily ever after . . . well, trust me, that's the Big Lie every little girl is fed since birth." 

She chuckled bitterly. 

"Prince Charming isn't coming to carry you away. When he does finally make an appearance and he kisses you like in all the fairy tales, he turns out to be a frog." 

"You're wrong, Ruth," Kirk denied, holding her closely, fiercely. Then, a smile in his voice, he continued wistfully. 

"Love doesn't *have* to be cruel. It can be gentle and considerate. It can be as fresh as a spring shower, or as warm and lazy as a summer day spent outside under a shade tree. Love can be as comfortable as your favorite sweater . . ." 

Kirk chuckled lightly, a contrast to her dark mood. 

". . . You know, the one your Mom is always threatening to throw into the recycler." 

He nuzzled her neck affectionately, his hot breath sending electric currents coursing through her. 

"I think though that love has to be a little bit like a cup of hot cocoa in a cold Iowa winter, after you've been outside hours before daybreak doing your morning chores." 

Zyglowicz half-turned to him smiling tremulously through her tears, settling more comfortably into the warm solace of his arms. Nodding, she agreed. 

"You're right, Jimmy, love can be like that . . . *should* be like that . . . It just hasn't turned out that way in my case, I guess." 

She turned away, profoundly forlorn. 

"I wish you'd let me love you . . . let me show you what I mean. Don't let this moment pass us by, Ruth. I know I could make you happy." Kirk whispered softly, while caressing her sensuously. "I hate to see you cry like this." 

He hugged her fiercely protective. 

"What's the *matter* with Wellington anyway? Doesn't the guy have *eyes*? Doesn't he know how you feel?" 

Zyglowicz took a quick sudden intake of breath, almost a sob. 

"Is it . . . *Am* I so obvious?" she asked vulnerably. 

"No," Kirk denied considerately. "I only noticed because I can't take my eyes off you." 

He chuckled. 

"We're sure a pair. I can't keep my eyes off you . . . You only have eyes for Duke . . . and Duke's too blind to see the gift you're offering him." 

"I know you think that I'm as foolish as he," Zyglowicz managed to choke out. "What you're offering me is almost too sweet to bear . . . I'm an idiot not to take it . . . to love you . . . but . . ." 

"I know," Kirk comforted her understandingly, pulling back slightly. "Mom always says that love makes its own rules, that you're stuck to love the one fate dealt you . . . So you're stuck with wanting Duke, and I'm stuck wanting you." 

He kissed her gently on the neck, his warm touch making her gasp in spite of her struggle for self-control. 

"I'm sorry I disturbed you, Ruth . . . But I don't regret coming tonight . . . This Honor Board thing's made life pretty much hell . . . The only thing right now that makes life tolerable is thinking of you." 

He turned her so that she faced him fully, held her closely in his arms, searched for and found her ready mouth. He kissed her fiercely, putting all of his love and longing into that one kiss. She returned his kiss with equal hunger and desire. 

It would be so easy to let go, to let their fires consume them both. 

Kirk broke away first, hating himself for doing so. He could feel Zyglowicz responding, her resolve melting. But the lady had already said no; she loved someone else. To take advantage of her lonely vulnerability would make him the worst kind of cad imaginable. 

Carefully disengaging himself, he stood up. 

Cupping her face gently in his hands, Kirk leaned down and kissed her once more, yearningly. 

"If you change your mind," he whispered, his voice tinged with his desire and regret, "you know where to find me." 

With that, he was gone. 

#### Chapter Twenty-four 

Two days later, on their way to the Academy's rock gardens, the late evening sun casting elongated shadows before them, Kirk and Mitchell walked stiffly in step, looking neither right nor left. Delaney had summoned the team for an emergency hot wash. 

"So, look who's still walking outside in the sunlight! I thought you'd have crawled back under whatever rock you were spawned from." 

Finnegan's taunting tones halted Kirk and Mitchell in their tracks. 

Kirk felt his rage escalate to warp core breach levels. He'd had it! The Honor Board hadn't accused his team of anything, yet they stood tried and convicted by their fellow cadets. 

All right! This was just fine with him. If he was going to get thrown out of the Academy, then what he was about to do would be worth the shame afterwards. 

"Jimmy, he's not worth it," Mitchell quietly pleaded, placing a restraining arm across his roommate's chest. 

"Oh, but he is, Gary," Kirk replied through clenched teeth, shaking off Mitchell's staying hand. "He most certainly is." 

"What's the matter, boyos? Cat got your tongue? Or are you cowards, as well as cheats and thieves?" Finnegan's taunting laughter was drawing a small crowd of on-lookers. 

Kirk noted that a few of them were looking on with disapproval-- at Finnegan, not at Mitchell or himself. Others, however, two of Finnegan's personal minions, in particular, were urging the young tough on. 

"That's telling them, Sean!" 

"Starfleet's no place for cheats and cowards!" 

"Hey! They're innocent until proven guilty!" 

"Oh, yeah? And if you saw them standing over the body, holding a hand phaser, would you wait until the trial, or would you assume they were guilty and duck before they killed *you*!" 

Kirk heard the shouts and jeers going on around him, but shut his ears to it. The world had narrowed in focus to just Finnegan and him. 

No one else existed in the cosmos' entirety, except the two of them. 

Kirk approached Finnegan slowly. Finnegan outweighed Kirk by a good thirty pounds; furthermore, he had a reputation of being a dirty fighter. He'd been called before Captain's Mast on at least two occasions for unnecessary roughness against his hand-to-hand opponents on the practice mat. 

These facts were lost on Kirk. He wanted to savor each passing moment. He wanted to see Finnegan sweat . . . to see him panic. More than anything, Kirk wanted to watch Finnegan's eyes when he rammed his fist into the Neanderthal's solar plexus. 

"Okay, Finnegan, I'm here," Kirk said quietly. "You were saying that Cadet Mitchell and I are cowards, cheats and thieves. Is there anything else you'd care to say? I mean, before I reach in and pull out your intestines and twist them around your neck?" 

Kirk spoke so low, that the crowd had to quiet down in order to hear what he was saying. 

"Oh, I'm shaking in me boots, lad!" Finnegan shot back, affecting a fake Irish accent. "You and what army are going to accomplish this miraculous feat?" 

"I don't need--!" before Kirk could finish his reply, Finnegan, lightning swift, threw a sucker punch. His fist struck Kirk's jutting chin with such deadly force, Kirk actually saw stars for an instant. 

Dazed, Kirk managed to duck beneath Finnegan's follow-through, but was unable to avoid the next two blows--to his right cheek, then to his left temple. 

Experiencing a moment's instance of disassociation, Kirk clearly recalled his Dad's patient self-defense instruction. "Remember, son, protect your head at all costs. Look for an advantage, then strike boldly and swiftly . . . " 

" . . . Okay, Dad," Kirk whispered in reply. "Boldly and swiftly . . . " Shaking the cobwebs from his head, Kirk realized that he was on the ground, looking up at Mitchell's worried countenance. 

"Jimmy," Mitchell's voice sounded like he was in a long tunnel. "How many fingers am I holding up, buddy?" 

"Fifteen." 

"Whoa, kid, I'd best get you to sickbay," Mitchell replied, half- worried, half-laughing. 

"Can't . . . " Kirk muttered, " . . . gotta punch . . . out Finnegan's face." Or at least those were the words that Kirk had intended. 

What he actually said, sounded more like, "Fan't . . . govva funnf . . . fout Finnennann's fesh." 

"I'm afraid you're a little late for that, kid. He's left already," Mitchell said dryly. 

"Gonna . . . go get him . . . Kick his butt . . . from here to . . . Horse Head Nebula," Kirk tenaciously insisted, trying to rise. White-hot pain shot up from his rib area. Kirk blacked out temporarily. When the world returned to its normal orbit around the sun, Kirk tried to remember where he was. He peered closely at Mitchell. 

"Why are you . . . upside down?" 

Mitchell shook his head and rolled his eyes in aggravation. 

"Come on, buddy. Let me help you up. We've gotta get those cuts and bruises taken care of." 

"Are you planning on taking on the *entire* student body?" 

Kirk turned painfully in the direction of Delaney's voice. He couldn't quite focus on her image, however. Eventually, Delaney moved into his line of vision, and crouched easily just above him. 

"I should've taken care of Finnegan years ago." That sounded like Wolfe, but Kirk couldn't see him. The world was beginning to kaleidoscope crazily. 

"That would've been intelligent of you," replied Delaney tersely. 

Captain's Mast, here I come, Kirk thought ironically. 

Delaney touched his cheek gently, and gave his face a cursory inspection, much like his Mom would have done. A not quite concerned look, tempered by distaste, flickered across her face. 

Hadn't she asked him a question? Oh yeah, something about taking on the entire student body. Well, Kirk was interested in . . . 

" . . . Just those . . . who accuse me . . . of being a coward . . . a cheat . . . and a thief . . . " he managed to reply. 

Kirk's badly swollen mouth and jaw didn't allow him the freedom to enunciate his words in his usually crisp manner; however, the gist of his meaning got through. 

"I see. Well, that doesn't leave you much time for studies, then, does it?" 

"I figure . . . that if . . . I take on . . . at least two . . . every ten minutes . . . I'll be done . . . in almost . . . twenty years." 

"Well, you can consider it job security, I suppose," Delaney said straight-faced. 

"Yes . . . sir . . . " 

"Consider yourself on report, Cadet. Next Captain's Mast is a week from Tuesday, at fifteen hundred hours." 

"Understood . . . sir . . . " 

"He's a contrary one," said Wolfe half-admiringly. 

Delaney turned to the remaining spectators. 

"Break it up . . . show's over." 

"Hey, why should we listen to what *you* say?" One sullen cadet replied; another cadet standing next to him nodded his head. Kirk recalled that they were Finnegan's cronies. 

"Because like it or not, I'm still the Senior Cadet Commander, and I can *still* have you before Captain's Mast for disobeying a direct order." 

At their look of skepticism, she stepped up to them, and added dangerously, " . . . and because, if you don't . . . I'll kick your butts from here to the Horse Head Nebula and back! Do I make myself clear?" 

They both nodded nervously. Delaney wasn't prone to exaggeration. 

"Good. Go!" she snapped. They quickly got! 

"Mitch, Wolfman, let's get our young, misguided Galahad to sickbay." 

They nodded, and together helped Kirk woozily to his feet. Somehow, the four of them managed the long walk to the Academy's infirmary. 

#### 

Chapter Twenty-five 

"The Doc said you were to report directly to your quarters!" 

Kirk shook his head adamantly. 

Mitchell sighed giving up. Delaney and Wolfe had left them at the doctor's office. Her last orders had been explicit: Mitchell was to enforce any and all of the doctor's orders, even if he had to kill Kirk in order to do so. 

The doctor had given Kirk something to bring down the swelling in his jaw. Whatever he'd used had also healed most of the cuts in Kirk's mouth but had also killed nearly all of the feeling inside. Kirk wasn't sure whether or not he was drooling, but thought it likely. 

A moment's careless step brought a momentary flash of searing pain shooting out from Kirk's ribs. The doctor had taped his ribs securely, but with only a minimum of painkiller to the area. 

The Doc had lectured about pain being a warning sign of something or other . . . 

Yeah, it's a sign all right . . . it's a sign that my ribs are broken, Kirk thought cynically, gasping at the sudden, knife-like agony. 

Kirk honestly couldn't remember having been hit there. His Dad would be ashamed of him. All that self-defense training--and he'd fallen for a sucker punch. 

The doctor hadn't been too impressed by Kirk's hand-to-hand abilities, either . . . 

" . . . Hair-line fractures to your third and fourth ribs," the young Starfleet surgeon, Lieutenant McCoy, informed him in a dry, melodious southern accent. "Didn't anyone ever teach you to duck? I thought the idea was to try to prevent the opponent from clobbering you." 

Kirk grimaced, not bothering to answer. 

McCoy's skilled surgeon's hands worked deftly, careful to avoid inflicting further injury on his young, rebellious patient. His deep blue eyes showed a flicker of compassion, which he quickly doused. 

"Son, I'm a doctor from the old school . . ." 

Kirk's eyes looked at him doubtfully. "Old school . . . you're not . . . so old . . ." 

"Maybe not, but compared to you, I'm Methuselah," McCoy returned easily. "Anyway, as I was about to say: I'm a doctor from the old school. I believe that the body should be allowed to heal itself, on its own." 

Kirk looked at him distrustfully. He knew he wasn't going to like the doctor's next words. McCoy didn't disappoint him. 

"This means no artificially accelerated healing techniques. At least, not unless it's a critical emergency--say, you're a Starship Captain whose ship is the middle of a battle, and you're needed on the bridge." 

McCoy paused, looking at his pugilistic patient with sardonic humor. "I'm afraid this healing process is going to hurt you a lot more than it's going to hurt me." 

"Thanks, Doc . . . your concern . . . overwhelms me." 

"Jimmy, you'll only hurt yourself further." Mitchell's voice brought Kirk back to the present. "You heard what the Doc said--you need to rest." 

Kirk could almost feel Mitchell's concern as a physical soothing balm. 

Well, he didn't *feel* like being soothed. He was sick to death of people treating him like a kid. He was sick of Starfleet . . . the Academy . . . the scandal . . . He'd had it up to *here* with *everything*! 

Concentrating with what strength he could rally, Kirk mentally shouted, "And I'm SICK and TIRED of YOU!" shutting Mitchell completely out of his subconscious. 

Mitchell blinked in shock. That was the first time anyone had been able to keep him out at will. 

They both stood outside in the damp San Francisco night, staring intently at each other, their mutual anger hanging almost palpably between them. 

Kirk would be damned if he looked away first. If only his ribs didn't feel like they were on fire. Gradually, as his anger cooled, he began to feel ashamed at his childish behavior. Sam would never have treated him this shabbily, he admitted. Gary was only concerned about his well being, and here he was shutting him out like a petulant little boy. 

Wait a minute! All of a sudden the realization of what he'd just done impressed on Kirk. But this was supposed to be impossible! 

An idea began to take shape. That's it! 

Kirk looked at Mitchell, triumphant understanding dawning in his eyes. 

"I *did* it! I shut you *out*!" Kirk waved off Mitchell's look of hurt betrayal. "Don't you see? You said that your esper abilities couldn't be controlled . . . that they were instinctive . . . But if *I* can shut *you* out, then it stands to reason . . ." 

" . . . It stands to reason," Mitchell took up the thought, "that *I* should be able to do the same!" 

"And if you can do *that* . . ." Kirk rejoined. 

" . . . Then I should be able to control this thing at will!" They were both shouting excitedly at the tops of their lungs. 

Maybe there *was* something useful to this esper business after all. What if when Mitchell linked to Kirk, there *was* a way to control it? 

They hurried to find Delaney. She had to be informed. Kirk limped as quickly as his injured ribs would allow him to move. Each step was an agony, each torturous breath an exercise in self-control. 

Concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, Kirk almost missed the Senior Female Cadet quarters. He was beginning to see red and black spots in front of him. Although the evening was quite cool, he felt perversely hot. 

As he and Mitchell were about to turn into the female quarters, Kirk suddenly stopped. He was experiencing a slight difficulty in focusing clearly, but he had no trouble seeing the two figures on the front portico. 

In the doorway, fully illuminated by the outside lights, Zyglowicz and Wellington stood kissing. 

It wasn't a friendly peck on the cheek, either. It was the kind of lingering kiss that had been haunting Kirk's dreams these past few nights. Dreams in which Zyglowicz had been prominently figured. 

I guess Ruth and Duke must be on again. She got what she wanted after all, Kirk thought bitterly dejected. I wish them both well, he added, not wishing them well at all. 

Kirk became aware of Mitchell next to him. He looked up at his friend and gave him a half-shrug and a devil-may-care smile. 

They were both startled by Zyglowicz' next actions. She put her hands on Wellington's chest and shoved--hard! Wellington stumbled backwards, but managed to right himself. He reached out to grab Zyglowicz' arm, but she was too fast for him. 

Zyglowicz caught his hand, twisted underneath it, and in a lightning move, she threw the much larger, much heavier Wellington over her head. He landed head over heels in the dorm's rose bushes. 

Nodding with grim satisfaction, Zyglowicz dusted off her hands, and with exaggerated dignity, headed indoors. 

Kirk and Mitchell looked at each other in open-mouthed shock. Tiny Zyglowicz bested *Wellington*? Kirk wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen it. 

Did this mean she and the Duke were *off* again? A slow, goofy smile started to take hold of his youthful features. 

"Come on, let's go give him a hand," Mitchell interrupted Kirk's musings. "The poor guy may need help extricating himself from those rose bushes. Ouch! That's *gotta* hurt!" 

Kirk nodded, grinning. He was suddenly beginning to feel better. 

#### 

Chapter Twenty-six 

"Excuse me, sir, but are these the Senior Female Cadet quarters?" Mitchell asked blandly. 

Looking up from his position of great disadvantage, Wellington gave his two junior teammates a sour grimace. 

"Ha. Ha. And if you two *tell* anyone, I'll personally kick your butts from here to the Horse Head Nebula." 

Mitchell and Kirk grinned in return. 

"What do you think, Cadet Kirk?" Mitchell asked in mock earnestness. "Is there anything in the First Year Cadet Student Manual on How to Extricate Senior Cadets from Thorny Situations?" 

"Why, no, Cadet Mitchell, I don't believe I have ever seen any such instructions." Kirk paused as if thinking. "I know! Why not call for an emergency response team. They're *excellent* at handling these types of problems." 

"Yes, Cadet Kirk! I do believe that that is indeed an excellent suggestion!" 

"Would you care to make the call, Cadet Mitchell?" 

"Oh, no, as it was *your* suggestion, *you* should make it." 

"Oh, but I *insist*, Cadet Mitch--" 

"Are you two clowns going to go on all night, or are you going to help me?" Wellington sounded tired, frustrated, and somewhat chagrinned. 

Grinning, Mitchell and Kirk immediately bent down to help him. Mitchell grabbed Wellington by the arms, and beginning to pull, turned to Kirk. 

"Jimmy, see if you can untangle Duke's--" 

Kirk had collapsed on his side, unconscious. Mitchell immediately dropped Wellington which resulted in his becoming even *more* entangled by the thorny bushes. 

"Yeowch! Hey! Watch it! What the--!" 

"Sorry, Duke! It's Jimmy, he's hurt bad! Dammit! I told him he should go straight to his quarters. Look I've gotta call for a med- team. Can you get yourself out of that?" 

"Yeah, hey, waitaminute! What *happened* to him anyway?" 

"Finnegan." 

"Finnegan? He must outweigh the kid by a good thirty pounds!" 

Working rapidly, Wellington pulled himself free, ripping his pants and shirt in several places in the process. He also cut and scratched himself in his hands and cheeks (and a few unmentionable locations, he groused privately). 

Kneeling down next to Kirk, Wellington expressed shock and outrage at the extent of his injuries. 

"I should've taken care of Finnegan years ago. I can't believe he hasn't been kicked out of the Academy. The guy's nothing but a bully." 

Wellington looked intently at Mitchell. 

"Look, let's carry him inside. If Jim's disobeyed a doctor's direct orders, he's already in more trouble than he needs." 

Mitchell's eyes widened. He hadn't *thought* of that. 

A doctor's authority in Starfleet was almost inviolate. Even the C-in-C could be relieved of all duties under a doctor's directive. 

Mitchell quickly nodded his agreement, and was about to give Wellington a hand, when the big guy lifted Kirk's five-foot ten, one hundred sixty pound frame as easily as he would a small child. 

"Sure's a little guy, isn't he?" 

Mitchell, somewhat diplomatically, neither agreed nor disagreed. No telling if Jimmy might be aware of what was going on around him. 

"Where are we taking him?" Mitchell asked instead. 

"Someone I know," Wellington replied enigmatically. 

When they arrived at the designated door, Wellington nodded at Mitchell to buzz the door. Mitchell did as instructed, then quickly stepped aside. Zyglowicz immediately opened the door. 

"You--!" She began in sudden fury, when she saw Wellington standing there. "I thought I made myself perfectly clear--" 

Zyglowicz suddenly noticed that Wellington wasn't alone. 

"Jimmy," she whispered, reaching out and placing her hand tenderly on his forehead. "What happened?" Then in anger, demanded, "What did you *do* to him?" 

"I didn't do *any*thing," Wellington replied in exasperation. "For crying out loud, aren't you going to let us in? He may be small, but he's pretty solid. Must work out a lot, or something." 

Zyglowicz let them in, then quickly cleared her bunk. Wellington thankfully lay Kirk down. Zyglowicz placed a blanket over him, tucking him carefully. She looked up then. 

"I'm *still* waiting for an explanation." 

"Look, I had nothing to *do* with this!" 

Zyglowicz looked at Wellington skeptically. 

"All right, Zee, you've made it perfectly clear that you think I'm some kind of insensitive clod. The last man in the universe, with whom you'd want to spend eternity exiled in a black hole's event horizon, I believe is how you put it. But, please, give me *some* credit for decency. I happen to *like* the kid." 

"Duke's telling the truth, Zee. He didn't do this to Jimmy. It was Finnegan." Zyglowicz looked up startled when Mitchell spoke. She hadn't even realized he was standing there. 

"Finnegan? Why that--!" Zyglowicz spewed out a chain of non- repeating expletives that left Mitchell flabbergasted. Even *Nasta* wasn't capable of that, he thought. "I should've kicked his butt from here to--" 

(Don't tell me, Mitchell thought.) 

"--the Horse Head Nebula!" 

(Now how did I know she was going to say that? Mitchell thought facetiously.) 

"Hey, you two, I think I've got an idea," Wellington said excitedly. "A way to avoid Jim's getting put on report for being FTF." FTF was Starfleet jargon for failure to follow instructions. 

Zyglowicz and Mitchell looked at him expectantly. 

"Look, the kid's in trouble if it's obvious that he deliberately disobeyed a doctor's direct orders, right? Right! However, if we make it look like his intentions had *always* been to go to bed . . ." 

"Just what are you saying, Duke?" Zyglowicz asked suspiciously. 

"What if *you* call the doctor. Tell him that Jim came here, as he often does, to spend the night. Neither you nor he realized the extent of his injuries, and . . . well, once you were . . . you know . . . he passed out from the pain." 

Zyglowicz stared at Wellington in shock. 

"You mean you want me to say that Jimmy and I--? That we're--? Just what kind of a person do you take me for? Do you *think* for one moment that I'd take advantage of a fifteen-year-old boy's crush on me? Why you low . . . you scum . . . Ooh!" 

Zyglowicz shouted indignantly, her anger magnified by feelings of guilt over almost allowing the very thing she was hotly denying. 

"I can't *even* begin to describe what kind of a lowlife you are!" She was ready to knock him down again. 

"Look, it's obvious the kid's got the hots for you! I just thought that--" Wellington tried to explain. 

"You just *thought* . . . " Zyglowicz spat out sarcastically. "Your brain wouldn't be able to take the strain . . . you . . . you refuse--" 

"Look, he needs a doctor," Mitchell interrupted, disgusted with the squabbling. "Are you going to call one, or will I? I'd rather see Jimmy get kicked out of the Academy in one piece than maybe die while waiting for medical attention. That would be nice a thing to explain to his parents, don't you think?" 

The two senior cadets had the grace to look abashed. 

"Okay," Zyglowicz said, calming down. "I'll do it." She looked at Wellington. "But not because *you* suggested it! Because it'll keep Jimmy out of trouble." 

She thought a second. 

"Mitch, get him out of his clothes. If we're going to make it work, we'll at *least* have to make it look like he passed out while in a compromising position. I'll undress in the bathroom. Call me when you're done. Oh, and Mitch--?" 

Mitchell looked up questioningly. 

"Please cover him. I don't want any unnecessary temptation. Jimmy's such a beautiful boy. I may just forget myself." 

This last part was obviously for Wellington's benefit, who acknowledged the dig by giving her a suitably sarcastic grin. 

When Mitchell and Wellington left her a few minutes later, Zyglowicz looked properly frantic. And if truth be told, she also looked quite *im*proper. Her slim figure was noticeably outlined under the silky-looking, fragile, night-thing she'd put on. 

Mitchell had stolen an inadvertent glance at Zyglowicz while she bent over Kirk, and he'd caught a glimpse of what lay underneath. He looked away guiltily. 

Jimmy's right, he thought. Duke *must* be blind! Jimmy's gonna hate himself. Here he is lying naked in bed, in Zyglowicz' quarters, the girl of his dreams, and he's unconscious. Could a guy be any *un*luckier? Poor kid. 

Up until he'd taken notice of Zee, Kirk had been nothing but a stack of books with legs. Now, he'd finally become aware of the opposite sex, and *this* had to happen. 

After Mitchell and Wellington left, Zyglowicz nervously waited for the doctor to arrive. When the door buzzer finally sounded, she practically leaped to answer it. 

A young medical officer in a Starfleet surgeon's tunic stood outside waiting impatiently. 

"Well?" he asked gruffly. "Where *is* he? Oh, there he is." The doctor completely ignored Zyglowicz' garb. "Kids . . . think they're immortal . . . Starfleet Cadets are the worst of the bunch . . . think nothing can touch them." 

He continued to mutter to himself as he ran his medical scanner over Kirk. 

When he uncovered the boy, Zyglowicz gasped in shock. She hadn't realized the extent of the injuries. "Oh my God," she whispered, before she could stop herself. 

"Yes, whoever did this needs to be court-martialed, or whatever the Academy's equivalence is." 

Completing his examination, the doctor took out a hypo, measured and set it, then injected the miracle cocktail in Kirk's jugular. Within a few moments, his color began to return to normal, and Zyglowicz could literally *see* the contusions and swelling in the rib area begin to go down. 

"Young lady," the doctor was addressing her. "When our *extremely* young and impetuous friend wakes up, give him two of these. Under no circumstances is he to be moved for at least twenty- four hours. See to it. He's to stay in bed--alone--even if someone has to *sit* on him to ensure that he does it. Not that I believe he'll object to it, considering the accommodations." 

Zyglowicz nodded mutely, blushing furiously. 

"Oh, and young lady?" 

Zyglowicz looked up quickly. 

"The vamp act doesn't particularly suit you." Pausing for effect, he added gruffly, "I'm a *doctor*, dammit, not a *tattletale*! Don't worry. As long as the boy follows my orders *this* time, I won't report his earlier FTF. See that he does!" With a wink and a smile the doctor left Zyglowicz alone with her youthful charge. 

#### 

Chapter Twenty-seven 

Several hours later, Zyglowicz was awakened suddenly from an uneasy sleep. 

She'd curled up in her small couch and had dropped off gradually. She'd dreamt of allowing herself to be kissed on a moonlit night by a sweet, charming, golden haired, golden-eyed boy who was not quite sixteen. 

The boy metamorphosed into a darkly handsome young man with laughing eyes and a wicked smile. All it took was a single look from him to take her breath away. The one night of passion they'd spent together had sealed her love for him forever. However, she was just one of many to him. 

Her love wasn't so much spurned, as it was unnoticed. 

Jimmy's shy eagerness, his kisses which were at first tentative, then which grown in boldness and increasing passion, had been like a taste of spring with fresh blossoms newly sprouted, after a long, cold, dry winter. 

Zyglowicz' smile turned to sadness, then guilt. In her hunger for requited love, she'd shamelessly led Jimmy on, knowing fully well that she could never love him the way he deserved to be loved. 

She remembered the night Jimmy came to her quarters, shyly hesitant about his welcome. She recalled his kisses full of deep longing and an eager promise of eternal spring. She recalled his gentle compassion at her deeply abiding loneliness, and finally his chivalrous action at stopping himself before she completely lost herself in his warm inviting arms. 

She saw Wellington go flying head over heels into the rose bushes. Her momentary satisfaction quickly blunted by the knowledge that she'd burned her bridges. She'd settled for a long night's cry, hoping that he'd come up to her room, and tell her how much he loved her, when the buzzer had sounded. 

There he stood, looking disheveled, his usually crisp uniform torn, his hair tousled, here and there a green leaf and rose petal entangled in it. He had an ugly welt on his left cheek where a rose thorn had badly scratched him. Her first reaction of joy was quickly dampened with the inevitable anger. Why couldn't she stop being angry? 

She finally noticed that he was carrying Jimmy. Her heart had gone out to the boy. 

Now, with Jimmy recovering, Zyglowicz thought again about Wellington actually carrying Jimmy all the way up here so that he wouldn't get in any deeper trouble. She thought of Wellington actually caring about someone else besides himself for a change. Her heart melted for him. 

When she awoke suddenly, Zyglowicz realized that she'd been crying. 

The door buzzer. 

Zyglowicz quickly rose to answer. She didn't want Kirk to be disturbed. Not thinking about what she wearing, she quickly opened the door, and was surprised when Delaney strode in purposefully. 

"Zee, I want to call a new meeting--" Delaney stopped when she saw Kirk sleeping in Zyglowicz' bed. She turned to face the single other female member of her crew. 

This was the first time Zyglowicz had ever seen Delaney appear nonplussed, unable to speak. If it weren't for what Delaney was obviously thinking, Zyglowicz would have thought it almost worth it. 

Quickly signaling for quiet, Zyglowicz led Delaney outside. 

"This isn't what you think," she began. 

"If you have an explanation, you'd better start," Delaney interrupted coldly, her blue eyes icy daggers. "And Zee, it *better* *be* *good*!" 

Delaney emphasized each of her last three words. 

After Zyglowicz explained, as quickly as possible, Delaney in her familiar stance stood with her arms crossed, her head cocked to one side. 

"I see. So the doctor says Jim will recover fully?" At Zyglowicz' nod, she continued, "Well, I can't fault the three of you for uncommon loyalty. And the doctor, too, since it seems he could see through the whole charade, if he said what he did." 

Zyglowicz nodded. She hugged her arms to herself. She suddenly realized that she was still wearing her too shear nightgown. 

"All right. Look, get dressed. I'm sorry about my initial reaction, but after we had dinner together the other night, it's been pretty obvious that the kid's got it bad for you." 

Delaney looked at Zyglowicz intensely. 

"Cadet Kirk is my responsibility. I like that kid . . . he's got . . . I don't know . . . there's just something really special about him . . . and I don't want to see him hurt. I'm not your conscience, Zee, but remember, you're a Senior Cadet." 

Zyglowicz dropped her eyes in shame. 

"It's natural for the firsters to develop crushes on authority figures. It's *our* responsibility not allow it to go any further." 

Delaney looked at Zyglowicz, her blue eyes piercing holes in her defensive armor. Zyglowicz nodded in mute understanding. 

"All right, I'll be back in about thirty minutes. How much longer before whatever the doctor gave him wears off?" 

"I'm not sure. About another five or six hours." 

Delaney nodded. 

"Good. We'll all take turns on bed watch. Like the doctor says, if Cadet Kirk even *thinks* about getting up, one of us will sit on him." 

She shook her head, admiringly. 

"Wolfman's right. That kid sure is a contrary one." 

#### 

Chapter Twenty-eight 

"I can't believe you let him *carry* me!" Kirk said in dismay. He saw an opening and pounced on Mitchell's Queen's Bishop. "Damn! Why does Duke have to be a *nice* guy, anyway? Don't you know that nothing goes quicker to a woman's heart than a guy who's altruistic?" 

Concentrating on his next move, Mitchell saw that Kirk had left his King's Knight open. 

"And you say this because you're such an expert on the subject of women, right?" Mitchell replied. Taking Kirk's Knight, he added, "Oh. Check, by the way!" 

Kirk grimaced. How'd Mitchell *do* that? Kirk continued the conversation while studying the board. He had a sneaking feeling that Mitchell was reading his mind. 

"No, but I've got eyes! I've seen Dad pull this stunt on Mom a zillion times!" 

Seeing his opening, Kirk moved his Queen's Knight and placed Mitchell's Queen, his Queen's Rook, and his remaining Bishop in jeopardy. The move, called a Knight's fork, showcased the power and versatility of the Knight's unique L-shaped move. Each of the pieces was within the Knight's deadly killing zone. 

Kirk had once referred to this positioning of his knight as a "family fork" because he could take any of Mitchell's major pieces with it. Whatever it was called, to Mitchell's frustration, Kirk always seemed to pull it at least once during their marathon chess matches. 

Studying the board, Mitchell realized he had to sacrifice one of his other pieces in order to save his Queen. Pulling his Queen to safety, he sat back and watched Kirk take his Rook. 

"Oh, yeah?" Mitchell finally responded to Kirk's hyperbole and intentionally misunderstood him. "I didn't know you were in the habit of being carried by big, strong men." 

Mitchell's Bishop took Kirk's Queen, which Kirk had been holding as a shield to protect his King. 

"Check!" Mitchell said triumphantly. 

Kirk gave Mitchell a dirty look. 

"You *know* what I mean!" Kirk shook his head in disgust. "Boy! Some best friend! The minute I'm lying down unconscious, you allow the competition to just pick me up and hand deliver me like a lost puppy to Ruth." 

"And what did you *expect* me to do?" Mitchell replied, his voice rising in exasperation. "And don't change the subject--you're in Check! Besides, if you'd followed the doctor's orders in the *first* place--No! If you hadn't been *stupid* enough to try to take on *Finnegan*--*none* of this would have happened!" 

Kirk made a castling move to protect his King. 

Mitchell immediately pounced on Kirk's Rook, and sat back in self-satisfaction. It looked like he might finally win one. 

Mitchell had been on bed watch when Kirk had finally awakened. He almost wished he could knock him out again. All Kirk had done since he'd opened his eyes was complain. 

*And* beat him at chess. Three games straight to be exact. 

Mitchell wasn't sure which was the more frustrating. However, gazing at the board, Mitchell was certain that this time, their match was not going to end in a sweep for his best friend. 

"I've got half a mind to run over to Zinc and Nasta's room and let them know that you've been lying naked in a girl's room for almost twenty-four hours, and haven't been able to do anything about it because you've been unconscious the whole time!" 

"You wouldn't!" Kirk said, shocked. 

"Just watch me! Of all the ungrateful--" 

Delaney, who poked her head in the door, interrupted them. 

"Is he decent?" she asked, smiling. 

"Yeah, he's decent," Mitchell replied sourly. "He's just not properly appreciative." 

"The part about being carried in, huh?" Delaney said knowingly. "Well, it happens. Fall unconscious in front of the girls' dorm and someone is bound to pick you up." 

"That wasn't exactly the kind of being *picked up* that I had in mind," Kirk answered sourly. He looked at Mitchell then pointedly moved his remaining Knight into position. "Checkmate!" 

Delaney smiled good-naturedly. Mitchell stood, throwing his arms up. 

"I *hate* it when you *do* that!" he cried out in disgust. Then walking back to the board, Mitchell intensely studied the positions of the pieces. "Just how *did* you do it anyway?" 

Kirk smiled guilelessly. "*You're* the esper. *You* tell me." 

Delaney interrupted. "Mitch, please sit. I understand that you two have some information for me?" 

Kirk and Mitchell exchanged glances, then as one turned their eyes on her. Mitchell nodded. Kirk replied, "Yes, sir." 

"All right. Let's hear it. What's so darn important that you'd risk further injury and possible expulsion for being FTF?" 

Kirk cocked an eyebrow at Mitchell giving him the go-ahead signal. Mitchell nodded resignedly. Briefly he informed Delaney of what he and Kirk had discovered accidentally about his esper abilities. 

"Jimmy did what experts had told me and my parents was impossible. They'd said that my esper abilities were strictly on an instinctive level, that there was no way I could control them through conscious will. In a fit of anger, Jimmy basically threw me out. No one's *ever* been able to that. *I* haven't been able to cut off a link once established." 

Mitchell shrugged his shoulders helplessly. 

"Maybe this isn't important. We're really not sure. But, then again . . ." 

". . . Then again, it could be the key we've been looking for." Delaney looked seriously at her two young crewmates. "I'm assuming you think this may be important because of the incident in the gym?" 

Two young heads, like two sides of the same coin--one raven, one golden--nodded in affirmation. 

"All right," Delaney said, holding back a smile, "tell me what you've got." 

Mitchell began reluctantly. "I don't think I started acting like a crazy guy as soon as we walked in the door. I'm not really sure. Everything's so confused." 

Unable to remain still, Mitchell stood and began pacing. 

"I felt, or thought I felt, something that at first reminded me of home. But it wasn't *really* home. You know what Mars Colony is like. No one lives in the open. All of the settlements are under domes made of transparent aluminum." 

Delaney nodded, listening. 

"What I was feeling was someone else's impressions of home. A home with windows open to the afternoon sun and soft breezes tinged with a fragrance that I didn't recognize." 

Mitchell paused in recollection. 

"I didn't have time to figure it out, because next I knew, I was on the floor feeling like I was being suffocated, crushed by a massive weight. I thought we were all in immediate danger and had to warn you." 

Mitchell shrugged his shoulders, shaking his head. 

"It's possible that the danger I sensed was Merrick's--certainly the suffocating part came from him." 

Delaney nodded her head, deeply in thought. 

"The danger and feeling of suffocation I can understand," Delaney agreed. "However, this feeling of home, where did *that* come from?" She looked at the both of them questioningly. 

"I may be able to answer that," Kirk spoke up quietly. 

Delaney acknowledged him by tilting her head to one side. She was wearing her hair a little differently today. It framed her lovely heart-shaped face, making her appear even more beautiful. Feeling himself staring, Kirk looked away quickly. 

Concentrate, Jimmy-boy! Then chastising himself added, I thought you were in love with Ruth! 

Gathering his jumbled thoughts, Kirk recited what he could remember. He told about his activating the gravity room's override and of discovering the supine form of Cadet Merrick, lying unmoving in the middle of the gym floor. 

"After I called for medical assistance, I experienced this, I don't know, brief feeling of something. Something that reminded me of our farm, and . . ." Kirk looked at Delaney embarrassed. 

Delaney's icy-blue eyes, which had sent such shivers through him earlier, looked at him warmly, urging him to continue. 

". . . and of you," Kirk finished. 

Delaney looked slightly taken aback. "Of *me*? Do you remember what set off these memories, or feelings?" 

Kirk shook his head. "I can't place it. Gary and I were discussing it earlier today. We *think* we know, but we're not sure *what* we know." 

Delaney's mouth quirked slightly. 

"Betcha can't repeat that." 

Kirk and Mitchell smiled, relieved. Delaney believed them. Everything was going to be all right. 

#### 


	3. Honor Code (Part 3)

Chapter Twenty-nine 

First things first. The Aegis crew had to find someone in authority whom they could trust. Whatever memories were locked in Kirk and Mitchell's subconscious, they were beyond the cadet crew's retrieval capabilities. 

The group needed help from someone who could do a mind probe. Unfortunately, that required medical help. Delaney instantly decided to ask the young surgeon who had treated Kirk earlier for help. 

Doctor McCoy was completing his final report before going off duty when what he could only describe as a gaggle of cadets trooped in. A beautiful, tall and slender, raven-haired beauty led them. 

Brother, Starfleet's going to let *that* loose onboard a Starship? McCoy asked himself. 

He immediately recognized his young, rebellious patient, and the tiny blonde who'd gone to such lengths to protect him. 

*This* is going to be interesting, McCoy thought sardonically. 

"May I help you, ladies and gentlemen?" McCoy asked, affecting his most charming Southern drawl. 

The tall goddess answered for all of them. 

"Sir, I'm Senior Cadet Commander V. C. Delaney. These cadets are members of my Sim/Tac crew. We need to ask your assistance in something very important." 

Delaney paused, weighing her words carefully. 

"Before we begin, we must be completely honest. We've all been given direct orders by the Honor Board not to discuss what we're about to. However, we all feel that we might as well be thrown out of the Academy for something we *actually* did, than for something we've been framed for." 

"I see. Sounds serious, young lady. Please, all of you, come this way." McCoy led them all into a small conference room where the staff held their daily meetings. "Please, sit if you can." 

McCoy waited for them each to find a place to sit. A huge, handsome fellow chose to stand guard near the door. McCoy's patient-- Cadet Kirk, wasn't it?--sat at the far end of the table next to the same dark-haired cadet who had waited for Kirk while McCoy treated him. The boy's tabs also marked him as a first year student. 

"All right. How may I help you all?" McCoy asked. 

Delaney again spoke for the group. 

She explained about their being called before the Honor Board, about the gag order, how they hadn't been accused of anything, but were nevertheless under a miasma of suspicion. 

She told of the incident in the gravity gym, and about the recent discovery concerning Mitchell's esper abilities. 

"You mean to tell me that you two kids share some kind of a *mind* link?" McCoy asked, disbelief written across his face. 

Mitchell and Kirk exchanged looks of dismay. If after placing themselves in jeopardy by seeking help from the doctor, he didn't believe them, then everything had been for nothing. 

Kirk swallowed nervously, then concentrating, he found his center and began to calm down. 

"Yes, sir. If you check Cadet Mitchell's student files, you'll see that his esper abilities are a matter of record. You'll also find that medical experts have measured his abilities . . ." 

McCoy turned to a desk-side terminal immediately upon Kirk's mentioning Mitchell's files and accessed them. He studied them, engrossed, and nodded distractedly. 

There it was . . . Mitchell, Gary L., high rating quotient on extra-sensory perception . . . not telepathic . . . largely instinctive bonds with family members . . . blah, blah, blah . . . pure nonsense! 

McCoy didn't believe in any of it! If something couldn't be felt or touched, if it didn't have mass, weight, and took up space, then it *didn't* exist! 

McCoy turned dismissively from the terminal, and faced the cadets. He was about to tell them all what he thought, when he felt seven pairs of eyes looking at him expectantly. 

The doctor was their last hope. 

McCoy thought disgustedly, I'm a *doctor*, not a fortune-teller! But he couldn't bring himself to shoot down their hopes. He sighed reluctantly. A sucker born every minute, I believe is how Granddaddy used to put it. 

#### 

Chapter Thirty 

Kirk lay nervously on the examination table. He hated medical exams. 

Mostly because Aunt Sarah, Doctor Sarah April, was the family physician, and because he felt he was a little too old to have his godmother poking in places that he considered private. Thank goodness, she was currently on the USS Enterprise, safely on the other side of the galaxy. 

Furthermore, in Kirk's opinion, doctors always acted as if they had a direct line to God--sort of, like high priests of medicine--the Last Authority On Everything. 

Kirk looked across at Mitchell. Gary also looked like he'd rather be anywhere else except here. His heart monitor was pulsing crazily. The sound, thankfully, had been turned off. Kirk couldn't see his own monitor, since it was over and behind his head, but he figured it must be a mirror to Gary's. 

We're like a couple of frightened kids, waiting for the bogeyman to eat us. 

"Okay, you two, just relax." Doctor McCoy's voice spoke soothingly over the intercom to them. Kirk could see him beyond the two-way window. "I want each of you to close your eyes and think of a blue sky full of white clouds . . . " 

McCoy's melodious voice continued to still Kirk's frazzled nerves, until he finally fell into a deep, dreamless sleep . . . 

. . . Kirk awoke later feeling more relaxed than he'd felt in weeks. What had he been thinking? A tendril of a thought just out of reach tantalized him. He lay there, not trying to follow the thought, allowing it to come back to him. 

In a moment, Kirk opened his eyes. He knew. He looked over to where Mitchell lay. He saw the same look of recognition in Mitchell's eyes. 

Kirk sat up slowly, reluctant to let go of the feeling of euphoria which had taken hold of him. 

He thought of home, and of Mom, of the gingersnaps that she used to bake on warm afternoons in late spring for Sam and him. He remembered the lazy sun-filled days spent playing catch on the Kirk farm's expansive front lawn, his older brother patiently helping him perfect his deadly curve ball in time for the summer league. 

He remembered the fragrant scent of jasmine in full bloom permeating everywhere. 

He recalled the day he met Delaney, her icy blue eyes assessing him coldly in the First Year Cadet Mess . . . and the trip up to Commandant Lorraine's office accompanied by a young female yeoman whose perfume's subtle fragrance teased him with the vaguest hint of jasmine . . . 

. . . The same hint, just out of reach of his senses, that tantalized him in the gravity gym shortly after discovering Merrick. 

Unaware of it at the time, Kirk's subconscious had registered the fragrance almost as soon as he'd entered the Fitness Center Complex. For later access, the memory had been imbued as a nebulous retrospection of home, with a nuance of Delaney thrown in. He hadn't been able to understand why at the time, but now he saw the correlation. 

The smell of jasmine obviously evoked memories of long ago late spring days at home, and because Kirk had experienced the pleasant scent on the day he'd met Delaney, its essence automatically triggered an association with her. 

Kirk and Mitchell each looked across at each other. They had work to do. 

#### 

"We don't *know* that she had anything to do with it!" protested Fletcher. 

"No, we don't," agreed Wolfe, "but what *else* do we have?" 

The others nodded in agreement. They were meeting in Delaney's quarters. Kirk noticed subtle feminine touches to the stark one-man room. Senior cadets didn't have to share quarters. 

Wellington spoke up. "I don't understand your reluctance, Jayjay. We're not the Spanish Inquisition. All we want to do is ask her a few questions." 

Wellington was sitting on the floor, his back leaning against Delaney's bunk. Zyglowicz sat on the bunk next to him--too close, Kirk thought jealously. Wellington turned to Kirk, and noticing the younger boy's dark scowl, glanced away momentarily. Quickly hiding a smile, he turned a serious countenance to Kirk. 

"You say she works in the admin building?" Kirk nodded. "Well, I say one of us goes there and talks to her." 

"What if we're wrong?" Fletcher broke in. "What if the Honor Board finds out what we're doing? We'll get our butts summarily dismissed from the Academy, is what!" Fletcher shook his head emphatically. "Uh-uh! You guys may be willing to risk everything you've worked for, but not me!" 

Delaney stood. 

"Jayjay's right." The others looked at her surprised. "This is a dangerous mission we've chosen to undertake. Our careers *are* on the line. So, we each have to make a decision. Either leave now, or stay." 

Delaney paused, staring off momentarily. The same look of vulnerability that Kirk remembered seeing briefly on her in the Sim/Tac all those days ago took hold again. 

"We each took an oath on our first day in the Academy. It's the oath that binds us all to each other, to the Academy, and to Starfleet." 

Standing before them, Delaney proudly quoted from the heart. 

"On my honor, I promise to do my duty to the best of my ability, to obey the lawful orders of the officers appointed over me, and to defend the Constitution of the United Federation of Planets. Furthermore, while enrolled in Starfleet Academy, I promise not to lie, cheat, nor steal, nor tolerate those who do." 

Her icy blue eyes burning intensely, Delaney continued. 

"The Honor Code is what this all about. Those of us, who choose to stay today and continue, must do so with our eyes fully opened. We *will* be in violation of our Oath. If caught, we face a summary court. Those of you, who choose to leave, must do so now, because remaining any longer implicates you as well. Furthermore, you will be honor bound to report everything you see and hear." 

Appearing larger than life, Delaney brought herself up to her full height, crossed her arms and looked directly into the eyes of each of her crewmembers. 

"Each of you must make your own decision, and you must do so now." 

With that Delaney turned away and walked over to the large window overlooking the administration building and the Golden Gate Bridge beyond. 

Wolfe immediately stood up and walked up to her. He placed a supporting hand on her shoulder. Delaney looked gratefully up at him, covering his hand with her own. 

"I'm in," he said for the others' benefit. 

Wellington spoke up from where he sat on the floor. "Me, too." 

Zyglowicz looked at him, startled. He gave her his usual wink and devastating smile. 

"Count me in," she said, returning his smile. Impulsively, she ran her hand through his thick, dark curls. 

Kirk, chagrinned, didn't miss their by-play. Looks like they're on again, he thought resignedly. 

"Guess I'm in too deep to climb out now," he said. 

"Me, too," added Mitchell. 

Fletcher was the only one left. "I'm sorry, guys. Please understand. There've been Fletchers in Starfleet since the founding of the Federation. I hate to do it, but I can't stay. I'm sorry. I wish you all Godspeed." 

Dropping his eyes in shame, Fletcher quickly made to leave when Delaney's quiet voice stopped him. 

"Jayjay, wait." Fletcher stood with his back turned to them. "I'm asking for forty-eight hours. I know you have to report us, but please, will you wait that long?" 

Fletcher nodded slowly, reluctantly, and left. 

The remainder of the Aegis crew sat in silence for a moment, the full import of what they were about to do settling like a death shroud on their shoulders. 

#### 

Chapter Thirty-one 

Kirk waited impatiently outside the Administration Building. He felt like a spy in the middle of enemy territory. The Aegis crew was each keeping silent vigil in key locations throughout the campus. 

Periodically, they surreptitiously spelled one another. A cadet hanging around in the same spot for any length of time would only draw suspicious looks unnecessarily. 

Kirk had already had a couple of junior grade officers eye him curiously. If he saw either one returning, he decided he'd casually get up and go about his way. 

He felt that what they were doing was ridiculous. There was a seventy percent chance that their target was *not* going to make an appearance. After all, the administration building had everything a person needed: an officer and crew mess, library, gift shop, mini-gym and showers. 

Taking out the special crew commlink that Wellington had concocted, Kirk was about ready to call Wolfe and let him know he thought that that they were wasting their time, when their target made her appearance. 

Yeoman Lake exited the headquarters building and started making her way in his direction. 

Kirk immediately stood and began walking in the general direction of the First Year Cadet quarters. 

As he walked, Kirk began slowing down. He was just another first year cadet reluctant to return to the rat race. A couple of minutes later, Lake passed him. Kirk caught just the barest trace of jasmine. 

As soon as she was outside earshot, Kirk got on the commlink to Wolfe. "Pilot to XO. Target heading on an intercept vector to your location." 

Two beeps acknowledged his message. 

Kirk followed his target as nonchalantly as possible. He stopped occasionally to admire the panoramic view, the shuttles taking off and landing in the distance. When he reached the designated point, he halted. 

"Pilot to XO. Handing off Target." 

Again, Kirk received two beeps in acknowledgment. 

A few minutes later, he heard Wolfe over the commlink. "XO to Signals. Target on intercept vector to your grid." Signals was Wellington standing watch near the crew mess. 

So Lake was headed to the open crew mess for lunch. Figures. Too much luxury on a daily basis can become dull and dreary after awhile, Kirk thought sarcastically. 

A few minutes later, Wellington's voice reported. "Target entering crew mess. Engineer, Navigator, take your positions. Acknowledge." 

Wellington received two beeps, then two more in acknowledgement. Zyglowicz was taking up a position that covered the back door of the crew mess; Mitchell was covering the side entrance, just in case. 

To their disappointment and frustration, Lake went in, apparently ate lunch, emerged and began her return to headquarters. 

"XO to Pilot. Target returning to HQ. You know what to do." 

Kirk beeped his acknowledgement. He did indeed know what to do. Up until now, the Aegis crew hadn't done anything that could get them into *real* hot water. What Kirk was about to do would basically widen their mass grave. 

He felt his heart rate abruptly take off at mach speed. Taking a calming breath to steady his shaky nerves, Kirk waited for Lake and his opportunity. 

When Lake passed his position, Kirk began to follow her casually, not too closely, not too distantly. Finally, when Lake was about to open the crew entrance to Headquarters, Kirk assumed a gallant demeanor, and grabbed the door from her hands. 

"Permit me," Kirk said, giving her an irresistible smile. Flustered, the yeoman allowed him to let her in. "I bet you hear this from all the cadets, but you know, you look *awfully* familiar. Have we met before?" 

Kirk forestalled her look of obvious scorn by snapping his fingers, recognition lighting his eyes. 

"I know! The first time I came here to the admin building! I had an appointment to see the Commandant, and you escorted me up there! How could I ever forget?" 

He smiled appreciatively. "I thought to myself at that moment, boy, did *I* join the right fleet. I mean if the crew is gonna have legs like *this*!" 

Kirk was beginning to enjoy his role immensely. He suddenly caught sight of Delaney standing near the lifts. Quickly, Kirk looked at his wrist chronometer. 

"Yawp! Look at the time! Gotta go! Hey, listen, may I call you some time?" 

Not lingering for a reply, Kirk quickly made his way to where Delaney waited impatiently. Her icy blue stare showed that she would brook no nonsense from him. What they were about to do could land them all in the brig not just get them expelled. 

Not trusting herself to vocalize anything that could be picked up by voice analyzer, Delaney quickly indicated the stairwell. Kirk sighed. Just once he'd like to break into a building and use the lifts. Oh well, with all that running he should certainly be in excellent condition. 

Delaney led the way. She worked in the admin building as a Senior Cadet aide. As such, she was familiar with the layout of the complex. As they rounded the fourth floor, a sudden door opening two floors up stopped them in their tracks. 

Swiftly ducking, the two young people waited for the danger to pass. They heard voices coming down the stairs, one male, and one female. 

"I *told* you no!" the female voice protested laughing. 

"And I *told* you *yes*!" the male voice answered in a low seductive tone. "Come on. We've never *done* it on the stairwell. Think of the danger, the real possibility of being caught in the act!" 

"I do! and I *won't*!" she replied no longer laughing. "Eric, we almost got caught that last time in Sim/Tac Five! I can't believe you and I were doing it, while the cadets were running through a War Fighter Trainer. What if Kopeck had walked in at the time?" 

"Aw, don't think for a minute Kopeck's not banging that yeoman, what's her name, Lake," he replied. "Come on, you can't tell me you didn't find it more thrilling. The chance of being caught didn't make it all the more . . . delectable?" 

Although they were speaking in low tones, the acoustics in the stairwell carried their voices clearly. 

Kopeck and Lake? Kirk had almost missed that, because his face was on fire. He had never blushed so furiously in his entire life! 

Kirk couldn't believe what he was hearing, and while crouched next to Delaney no less. Until that moment, he'd never *really* known the meaning of the phrase, "dying from embarrassment." He stole a glance at Delaney, and saw that she was very carefully avoiding looking in his direction. 

Oh, please, God, make them go back to work! I don't know if I'll be able to live through any more of this! 

To Kirk's undying relief, another door further up startled the would-be lovers. "Someone's coming! Quick get your clothes back on . . ." Kirk heard in panicked whispers. 

"*That's* not mine, for crying out loud!" Kirk had an almost uncontrollable desire to burst into laughter. Delaney, her hands covering her mouth, looked like she was about to explode as well, her laugh-crinkled eyes streaming tears. 

"Come on! The things you get me into!" The voices faded as a door closed behind them. 

Kirk and Delaney collapsed in helpless laughter. 

"Let that be a lesson to you, Cadet," Delaney managed to sputter, wiping tears. "Always think with your brains and not with your Southern Hemisphere!" 

Kirk was wiping tears from his own eyes. This was just too much! And he'd thought Nasta's mind unnaturally preoccupied with sex. The guy was a rank amateur! 

As they continued their climb, first Delaney then Kirk would suddenly break into helpless giggles. This sure wasn't the way to sneak into a secure building, Kirk thought. Stealth was the usual norm, but because their nerves had been so close to the edge, the unexpected comic relief came as a much-needed panacea. 

#### 

Chapter Thirty-two 

Entering the floor where the Starfleet Academy Security offices were located, Delaney and Kirk quickly established their bearings and headed in the opposite direction. 

Since neither of them had any business on this floor, they acted as if they belonged there. Nothing's more invisible than something that's left lying out in plain sight. 

Arriving at a recessed area of the west wing, Delaney calmly walked into the female latrine. Kirk did likewise, entering the male latrine. Giving the stalls a cursory check, he saw that he was the sole occupant. 

Quickly, selecting the stall at the farthest end, Kirk locked it from the inside, set the "Out of Order" warning signal, climbed onto the lip of the toilet, then crouched down to wait. It was going to be a long afternoon. 

The hours passed uneventfully. Occasionally, someone would rattle the door, then curse softly when he realized that the stall was out of order. At eighteen hundred hours, Kirk finally came out. 

He quickly met up with Delaney who was also emerging from her hiding place in the women's restroom. They acknowledged each other with a cursory nod. 

Passing by an opened, empty office, Delaney quickly ducked in, grabbed two datapads, tossed one to Kirk and continued down the corridor. Funny how a datapad in his hand suddenly made him look like he was on a vital errand, Kirk thought. 

The two split at the next juncture. Delaney headed towards the War Fighter Staff offices, Kirk towards the Adjutant Records Office (ARO). 

He strode quickly, confidently rounding the corner to the ARO. As he passed an open doorway, someone inside called out to him. 

"Cadet! Could you please step in here a minute?" 

Swallowing nervously, Kirk took a second to comport himself, executed an about face and walked into the office. A young lieutenant was inside bent over a terminal studying a continuous stream of data scrolling in front of him. 

"Yes, sir!" 

"Oh, yeah! Hey listen, Cadet umm-m . . . sorry I'm terrible with names," the lieutenant apologized looking at Kirk expectantly. 

"That's okay, sir, my Dad forgets my name all the time," Kirk replied, affecting a wide-eyed self-deprecating manner. Then added by way of explanation, "There're seven kids in the family." 

"Um, yes, I see," the young officer replied, his eyes drawn back to his screen. "Can you please deliver the out mail hardcopy to the SAS OIC? The regular runner left early, and apparently forgot to stop by here for the eighteen hundred hour pick-up." 

"Yes, sir!" Kirk replied readily, taking the data disk. "I'll deliver this to the SAS OIC ASAP!" 

"Uh, yeah, okay, um, carry-on, Cadet," the lieutenant managed. 

Kirk about-faced smartly and headed briskly down the hall. 

"Cadet!" the lieutenant's sharp voice halted Kirk in his tracks. "The SAS offices are the *other* way!" 

"Yes, sir! Sorry, sir! On my way, sir!" 

Kirk heard the officer sigh resignedly, "Cadets!" 

The last place where Kirk wished to be seen was the SAS offices. Therefore, he approached them with extreme caution, thankfully saw that their doors were closed, and pushed the data disk through the office mail slot. 

He heard a pinging sound, then the computer's friendly voice announced to the occupants inside, "You've got mail." 

Oh, brother! Kirk thought rolling his eyes. I hope I never have a computer that talks quite so friendly to me. 

Returning to the ARO by a circuitous route, Kirk first ensured that the offices were vacated for the night. Most of the offices closed shop at seventeen hundred hours, but there was always the chance that someone might be working late. 

Kirk took out the crew commlink and set it to scan. Kirk hadn't known that Wellington, besides being a drop-dead gorgeous rival (who happened to be a nice guy), was also a nano-engineering whiz. 

I think I hate him, Kirk thought darkly. 

The scan showed that the offices were empty. 

Good. Now for a little electronic lock picking. Gee, I'm getting awfully good at this. I wonder if I didn't miss my calling? Maybe I should've been a cat burglar. 

The electronic lock LCD indicator light went from red to green. 

I'm in! 

Opening the door quickly, Kirk ducked inside and closed the door immediately behind him. Taking a few moments for his eyes to become adjusted to the dim lighting, Kirk took out a red-filtered mini-light that he carried for emergencies. 

No telling when I might be breaking and entering, he thought ironically. 

Moving quickly, carefully through the cluttered offices, Kirk found the ARO's main computer terminals. Wellington had surmised that the ARO's multitasking system would probably be in sleep mode during off-hours rather than be completely shut down. 

Personnel records had to be readily accessible twenty-four hours a day in order to effectively and efficiently manage such a widely dispersed organization as Starfleet. 

Sitting down at the workstation, Kirk "woke" the terminal. 

The screen immediately came up: PASSWORD REQUIRED. 

Hmm-mm-m let's see . . . If I worked in the Records Office what password would *I* use? 

Utilizing the input/output databoard rather than voice command mode, Kirk began to experiment with different password combinations. 

Records . . . ACCESS DENIED . . . Starfleet . . . nope . . . Okay, this is getting interesting . . . SFA . . . ACCESS DENIED . . . Okay, you bucket of nano-circuitry, give it up . . . hmm-mm . . . how about . . . what's the name of the Records Officer? Oh, yeah . . . Lieutenant Ben Finney . . . let's see . . . Ben . . . ACCESS DENIED . . . Benjamin . . . ACCESS DENIED . . . Come on, come on . . . Finney . . . ACCESS DENIED . . . last chance before I turn you into slag . . . FINNEY . . . ACCESS COMPLETE . . . tsk, tsk . . . How careless of you Lieutenant Finney . . . that's at least ten demerits. 

Kirk was in the system. 

Quickly, Kirk began to query the computer on several Academy personnel: Yeoman Estee Lake, Cadet Robert M. Merrick, the other cadets who'd been rounded up in the initial days of the scandal, and Commander John Kopeck. 

On impulse, Kirk decided to include the names of those cadets who had been transferred from one Sim/Tac crew to another, such as Cadets Davila and Oman, whom he and Mitchell had replaced on the Aegis crew. 

Furthermore, Kirk searched for and found the names of the officers and crew who were on duty at Sim/Tac Five the day of the War Fighter simulation. When he found the information that he'd come for, he hesitated for a split second, knowing that the next step was the most critical. 

As brilliant as Wellington was, he hadn't been able to provide a one hundred percent secure commlink in the short time he'd had to develop the little handy device. Although, Duke and Zyglowicz had concocted a means to circumvent this problem, Kirk was still taking a risk. 

The ever-widening grave that Kirk had been digging for himself was growing into a chasm with Grand Canyon proportions. There was no helping it, though. 

Didn't Gary say I wanted to go out in a blaze of glory? Well, here's to glory! 

Connecting the commlink to the computer terminal, Kirk first carefully marked and collated the data for transmission, took a deep breath, and pressed the send button. 

After a several seconds, the terminal screen blinked, "TRANSMISSION COMPLETE." Kirk's commlink beeped twice. Wolfe, acknowledging receipt of the data packet. 

Mission accomplished. Quickly returning the ARO's computer terminal to its sleep mode, Kirk was startled by the overhead lights. 

"I must say, your Dad will be extremely disappointed in you." 

Kirk stood, whirling around. Captain Arrowsmith and two SAS officers, Lieutenant Okazaki and another whom he didn't know, stood at the entrance. Surreptitiously reaching behind him, Kirk palmed the commlink. 

His eyes widening innocently, Kirk gave Arrowsmith a disingenuous smile. 

"Captain Arrowsmith, sir! What a surprise! I didn't know anyone *else* worked late around here. I just wanted to catch up on some late file updates before I returned to my quarters--" 

"Can it, Cadet!" Arrowsmith interrupted sharply. "You're in deep Dunsel, Mister. You're coming with us, and you can just turn over whatever it is that you're holding behind you." 

"Yes, sir!" Kirk replied meekly, his eyes downcast. As the two SAS officers moved to either side of him, Kirk gave them his most pathetic, caught in the act look of shame. 

You sure are big and scary-looking, his frightened eyes told them. 

Knowing he had to use all of the weapons in his arsenal in order to buy some time, Kirk felt revulsion at what he was about to do. Concentrating, he called forth the most tragic event in his life, Amavia dying in his arms on that lonely rooftop over a year ago. The painful memory instantly produced a stream of real tears. 

Stepping aside from the pain, Kirk affected a miserably forlorn stance. Please don't hurt me, his broken demeanor pleaded. I'm just a scared kid, completely harmless. Kirk hunched to appear smaller than his five-ten, shaking his broad shoulders a couple of times for added effect. 

The SAS officers exchanged disdainful looks over Kirk's head. 

That's right, fellas . . . I'm shaking in my boots . . . A little closer . . . I won't be any trouble . . . much . . . 

Now! 

Kirk sprang into action, kicking a couple of chairs and sending them colliding into the officers. Catching them flat-footed, he nimbly vaulted over the computer terminals. Having evaded the SAS officers, Kirk quickly searched for and spotted, against the far wall, the room's fusion disposal unit. He dove, executed a shoulder roll, came up on his knees, and pitched a perfect strike. 

The commlink crashed into the disposal, which was used to destroy classified documents, and winked out of existence. "That little move just cost you your career in Starfleet!" Arrowsmith spat out. Looking at the SAS officers in disgust, he addressed them. "Griffin, Okazaki, I suggest you physically restrain your prisoner. He may be a kid, but apparently he has more guts and brains than the two of you combined!" 

The two chastised officers each grabbed Kirk by the arms, and pulled him along. 

Ouch! Hey! That hurts! 

His anger rising, Kirk figured, "What the hell," and decided against being a model prisoner. Besides, he needed to ensure that Delaney had time to get away. 

Time to take the offensive. Planting his feet firmly, Kirk pulled suddenly, slipping from the SAS officers' hold. Kicking out and up with his booted left foot, Kirk connected with Griffin's chin. The security officer crumpled against the corridor wall. 

White takes Pawn en-passant, Kirk quipped. 

Okazaki, grunting in surprise, turned towards Kirk pulling out his hand phaser. 

Oh no you don't! Kirk thought grimly. 

Spinning quickly, Kirk kicked the phaser out of Okazaki's hand, made a faking motion with his left hand, then chopped with his right. Okazaki rolled under the blow, and countered with a savage kick that narrowly missed Kirk's head. 

Diving under the kick, Kirk came up quickly, and using the corridor's wall for leverage, launched himself feet first at his opponent's solar plexus. Smashing into his much heavier antagonist, Kirk recovered first, and as the determined Okazaki made a move to restrain him, Kirk jabbed fiercely with a left elbow to the man's right temple, closely following through with a brutal right cross to the chin. 

The SAS officer went down. 

The struggle had taken about three minutes in real time. Both SAS officers lay unconscious in the corridor. 

In a dubious move that shocks the judges, the White Knight takes the second Pawn, Kirk observed. 

"Are you going to strike me as well, Cadet Kirk?" 

Arrowsmith's quiet voice cut through the roaring in his ears. Swallowing shakily, breathing in long thankful gulps of air, Kirk shook his head, no. 

Delaney should've had sufficient time to leave safely. 

"No, sir," he gasped, shrugging his shoulders. "I just don't like being shoved around." "I see. I'll try and remember that." 

Arrowsmith cocked his head indicating that Kirk follow him. 

"Come on. Those two will be all right, although I wouldn't want to be *you* when they come around." 

"Dad says that they're not making Security officers like they used to anymore. All brawn and no brains," Kirk said shaking his head. 

#### 

Chapter Thirty-three 

"I'm asking you again, Cadet. What were you doing in the ARO's offices?" 

Lieutenant Griffin sounded exasperated. He wanted to punch out the kid's teeth for that little kick to the chin, but he knew he couldn't use any force. At least not as long as that "Straight-Arrow" Smith was in the room. 

"Look we know you had accomplices," interrupted Okazaki. "We traced your transmission through the spacedock switchboards." 

Griffin took it up. 

"There it split into separate data packets, but we were able to trace them. One went to Titan Colony, another to the Mercury Outstation. We're still tracing the third one--" 

"--But it's only a matter of time before we find out who received your transmissions," finished Okazaki. Then added threateningly, "We have our ways." 

So they had no idea who his accomplices were. White Knight to King's five. 

"I refuse to answer on the grounds that I may incriminate myself," Kirk replied. 

Arrowsmith broke in. 

"Kirk, a Starfleet Cadet *has* no rights, except those imposed by the Academy! Your civil rights ended when you took your Oath on your first day in the Academy." 

That was the move Kirk was waiting for. He pounced. Knight to King's Bishop three. 

Check! 

Giving Arrowsmith a wide-eyed look, Kirk said innocuously, "Oh, but begging the Captain's pardon, sir. The Captain has been grossly misinformed." 

Arrowsmith gave Kirk a suspicious look. "What are you talking about?" 

"Sir, if you'll read my student files you'll see that I'm not eighteen years old. I'm afraid, sir, the Federation laws regarding minor children are pretty much sacrosanct. You can verify with the JAG offices if you don't believe me." 

Kirk resumed his silent waiting. 

Arrowsmith looked at Commander Hume who'd joined them when they'd first begun the interrogation. That had been almost three hours ago. 

"Check it out!" Arrowsmith barked. 

Hume nodded and exited the interrogation room. 

"You know that no legal technicalities will help you, Jimmy. I've already contacted the Enterprise. Your godfather, Captain April, expresses his regrets over your current situation. He says he'll inform your father immediately." 

Watching the boy's reaction at the mention of his godfather and father, Arrowsmith felt like a heel. He'd hated to send that subspace communique, but he'd no choice. This boy had too much self-discipline, too much strength of will. In order to break him, Arrowsmith was going to have to fight dirty. 

Kirk swallowed. 

Hell of countermove, he thought. Advantage Black. Time to pull the White Knight back to safety. 

No. He'd given his word. He wouldn't back down now. 

Dad had told him once that while allegiance to the Federation and Starfleet was a noble endeavor, humans needed to feel allegiance to people. It was natural to feel loyalty first and foremost to one's Captain and shipmates. While this wasn't necessarily bad, it wasn't necessarily good, either, especially if one's loyalties became divided, as his had suddenly become. 

If that were the case, then all Kirk had to fall back on was his Oath and his Honor. 

"What *is* honor?" his Dad had asked him once. "Honor is only a word. Think about it, son." 

Kirk was thinking about it now. What *was* honor? It may be only a word, but it was *his* word. 

Without his honor, what was he? 

Hume returned looking chagrinned. 

"Well?" asked Arrowsmith impatiently. 

"He's right. The Federation laws regarding the treatment and detention of minors are pretty strict. Something about the mistreatment and abuse of children in the past--it's a little lurid. Anyway, as long as Cadet Kirk is underage, even *if* he's an Academy cadet, and even *if* his parents signed an age waiver, the higher Federation law stands. His rights as a Federation minor cannot be taken away. We can't restrain him or question him against his will." 

Kirk let out a slow, silent breath. 

Threat to White Knight temporarily neutralized. 

Black King is still in Check. 

Thank you, Professor Gill, he thought, referring to his Federation History and Constitutional Law instructor. Kirk had thought that little tidbit about minors amusing when he'd first run across it, but now it was equivalent to having his Pawn promoted and exchanged for a higher piece. 

"You mean I've been interrogating a minor child for three hours and no one thought to inform me of his rights?" Arrowsmith asked exasperatedly. "Everything this boy has said is inadmissible in Federation Court?" 

At Hume's reluctant nod, Arrowsmith threw his arms up in disgust. 

"This is *not* acceptable!" Arrowsmith yelled frustrated. Turning to the two SAS officers, he ordered, "I want you to escort our young friend here to his quarters." At their menacing looks, he added, "And if I hear that you so much as *touched* that boy, except to restrain him with minimum force, I'll have your commissions." 

At that moment the door to the interrogation room opened, and Commander Rickenbach entered. "Captain, I'm sorry to interrupt, but Cadet Delaney wishes to speak to you." 

Kirk's eyes lit up. Finally, the White Queen returns to official play. 

Arrowsmith nodded. "Send her in." 

Delaney walked in looking stiffly military. "Sir, Cadet Delaney reports to Captain Arrowsmith." 

"Stand at ease, Cadet Delaney. How may I help you?" 

"Sir, request to speak to you in private," she replied formally. 

"I'm sorry, Cadet, but anything you have to say, must be said in front of my co-investigators." 

"I'm sorry, sir, I can't do that," Delaney said shaking her head. 

"What's going on in this Academy?" Arrowsmith asked no one in particular. "Aren't *any* of the cadets afraid of senior officers anymore?" 

Shaking his head exasperatedly, he finally acquiesced to her request. 

"Okay, Cadet, you win." Arrowsmith faced the rest of the officers. "Clear the room." 

"But, sir, this is highly irregular," began Hume. 

"You heard me!" Arrowsmith interrupted. "Out! We're not getting anywhere with Cadet Minor Child here anyway." 

As the officers began filing out, Griffin and Okazaki made as if to take Kirk with them. Delaney stepped in quickly. 

"Sir, please, I'd like Cadet Kirk to stay." 

The SAS officers looked at Arrowsmith, and he sighed resignedly. "Why not," he said. "I'm not in charge here anymore apparently. Let him stay." 

As Hume was about to exit, Delaney laid a restraining hand on his arm. 

"Begging the Commander's pardon, sir. May I please take that off your hands?" Delaney indicated his tricorder. Hume gave her a sour look and handed it to her. 

As they stepped out, Delaney faced the door. "Computer, secure door." 

"Working . . . Interrogation room door is secure," the metallic voice of the interrogation room's computer replied. 

"Computer, shields on." 

"Working . . . Interrogation room shields activated." 

"Computer, all voice and visual monitoring/recording devices off." 

"Working . . . Interrogation room audio/visual monitoring/recording devices deactivated." 

Delaney scanned the room with the tricorder. Satisfied, she turned to Kirk. 

"Hey, Pilot, how've they been treating you?" 

"Fine, Captain! But I thought SAS was gonna start pulling out my nails and teeth soon. Hey, I'm hungry. You got anything?" 

Delaney nodded and tossed him a dehydrated carbobar. Kirk caught it one-handed and tore the wrapper quickly. 

Delaney faced Arrowsmith. 

"Sir, what I'm about to show you is highly volatile. That's why I thought it best that you see it first. Also, please understand that my Sim/Tac crew and I acted in violation of our oaths because things were becoming untenable. We felt we had to clear ourselves, sir, since no one else seemed to be." 

Arrowsmith nodded. 

"Go on, Cadet Delaney. But please understand. Unlike your young friend here, you are not under the same umbrella of protection. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a military court- martial." 

Delaney smiled. 

"That's why I had all the sound and visual recordings turned off, Captain. It'll be your word against ours. I admit your word *carries* more weight; however, it will still be only your word." 

Kirk grinned in admiration. 

Checkmate! 

Arrowsmith acquiesced. "I see. Very well, Cadet Delaney, show me what you've got." 

Delaney produced a palm-sized viewing screen. 

#### 

Chapter Thirty-four 

Captain Arrowsmith listened and watched with increasing interest. He couldn't believe it! Most of what he was viewing was completely inadmissible in court since it had been gathered illegally; however, it answered some well-defined questions he'd been asking himself. 

One question, in particular, had been bothering the veteran Marauder Squadron commander for the few weeks since he'd started his investigation of Cadet Merrick. Namely, why couldn't Arrowsmith's subordinates find *any* incriminating evidence against the cadets whom Merrick had named? 

Although, these students had all been identified by Merrick as part of the cheating ring, and had had their reputations on campus irreparably tarnished, none would admit to any wrongdoing. 

So far, Arrowsmith's investigators had uncovered no evidence with which to incriminate them. All the Honor Board had was Merrick's word, and that wasn't exactly sterling. 

Then there was the question of the War Fighter being downloaded onto the USS Aegis' onboard computer. Captain Delaney's crew had performed brilliantly. Arrowsmith had been awe-struck by the aerial acrobatic combat flying of Cadet Kirk, only a first year student. 

However, it was the battle strategy that had truly impressed the squadron commander. Some of it showed the inexperience of the crew, but overall the plan was perfectly sound, including tactics that he himself might have come up with. 

Which came to the real reason that the theft of the War Fighter simulation was so critical. The reason why Starfleet had pulled an active Commanding Officer from his ship and his patrol zone, and had asked him to personally conduct the investigation. 

Unknown to the general student population, the War Fighter Simulation/Battle Plan was actually part of the Command Officer Training School curriculum. Using known OPFOR battle tactics, the Command Officer Trainees, who were highly selected lieutenants and lieutenant commanders recommended for command by their own Commanding Officers, developed the simulation as part of their own course requirements. 

How the cadets fought the battles was then closely analyzed by Starfleet Operations and Intelligence (SOI), and later sent to experienced commanding officers for further input. After an exhaustive study, SOI finalized the battle strategies and they became a small part of Starfleet's Battle Plans. 

Therefore, War Fighter used actual Starfleet tactics, strategy, and ship capabilities in order to produce the most realistically effective battle scenarios. This resulted in the simulation having a Cosmic Top-Secret rating, the third-highest classification in the fleet. 

To keep cadets from inadvertently giving away classified information, they were placed on their honor not to discuss the scenarios and their solutions with others. Since the teams' performances were rated in comparison to the other teams, the Sim/Tac crews weren't about to give a rival team any advantage. 

Up until now, this had worked to protect War Fighter. 

Now, the plans had been stolen and the Academy was under a cloud of scandal. Although War Fighter had been recovered intact, it nevertheless could've been copied and passed on to enemy hands. 

Worse, because of the security leak, Arrowsmith's Marauders, as well as the other Marauder Squadrons deployed across the Federation frontiers, were in danger of imminent attack. Marauder Squadrons were therefore all on a heightened Alert Status, and were currently being reinforced with heavier cruisers. 

A cheating scandal was *one* thing, espionage was another. They had a traitor in their midst, one who was not averse to subverting cadets, and worse, who was not above resorting to attempted murder. 

What really staggered Arrowsmith was just how long the alleged traitor had been at the Academy; how many other cadets might he have turned; how many had already graduated and were currently serving in commands spread across the Federation? 

And what about the students whom Merrick had fingered? Were they really part of this thing? Were they Cadets who'd been under so much pressure to graduate that they'd become involved in a cheating ring, only to discover that payback came at much higher price than even they had anticipated? 

Had they been enticed with promises of riches or with the fulfillment of some other fantasy, thus becoming willing dupes in the Galactic Great Game? 

Were they innocent victims of Merrick's own weakness of character, randomly selected names that Merrick had incriminated in order to buy time for himself? 

Finally, what *was* Merrick's role in this whole affair? What was his involvement? Why did his accomplices attempt to murder him? Did the boy become greedy? Did he threaten to expose them or did he suddenly have a change of heart and decide to jump ship? Was he a mere pawn who discovered that the price for the help he was promised to pass his academics came at the expense of his soul? 

All of these questions and more flashed through Arrowsmith's mind as he read the data that Delaney's Sim/Tac crew had uncovered. 

"It's funny, I guess, but Nasta kinda predicted this," Kirk said thoughtfully, his mouth full. 

"Pardon?" Arrowsmith had been completely engrossed in the information. 

"I said, that Cadet Nasta just a coupla days ago said that whoever had stolen War Fighter was probably long gone; that they'd probably sold it to the OPFOR. The others and I laughed at him, thought he was talking nonsense, like he does usually. I *never* would've figured a Starfleet cadet as a traitor to the Federation." 

Arrowsmith nodded, deeply in thought. 

"All right, you two. Nothing you've shown me leaves this room, do you understand?" 

At their looks of protest, Arrowsmith continued impatiently, "Look, this is a job for Starfleet Intelligence, not for a Marauder skipper who's completely out of his depth. And it's certainly *not* in the purview of a bunch of cadets. This is *too* dangerous. And, as Cadet Delaney so succinctly put it, it's highly volatile." 

Delaney and Kirk gave each other mildly annoyed looks, but turned to face the senior officer and nodded their understanding. 

"How many others know about this?" Arrowsmith asked. 

"Just members of my crew," Delaney replied. "With one exception. Cadet Fletcher refused to join us in any endeavor where he'd have to violate his Oath and your orders. The rest of us are guilty as charged, sir. However, I take full responsibility for the actions of my crew." 

Arrowsmith nodded, one Commanding Officer to another. 

Kirk protested. 

"Hey! Nobody takes responsibility for *my* actions except me! I knew what I was doing when I agreed to this thing. No way is Cadet Delaney gonna go down alone on *this*!" 

"At ease, Cadet!" snapped Delaney. "You haven't been asked, nor have you been given permission to speak!" 

"But--" 

"On the floor, Cadet! I want to see you knock out fifty, right here, right now! Move!" 

Kirk's eyes showed his surprise, but he didn't protest any further. This was the old Delaney who'd terrorized Mitchell and him weeks ago. Kirk got down into the classic push-up position and began counting off fifty. 

"One, sir! Two, sir! Three, sir--!" 

"I want to see a straight back and shoulders!" Delaney barked. 

"Ten, sir--!" 

"You call *that* a push-up? My *grand*mother could do better! Keep those elbows at a ninety-degree angle, Cadet, or you'll do twenty more!" 

"Fifteen, sir!" 

"My count says ten, Cadet!" Delaney began circling Kirk's form. "You have to learn, cadet, that there is a time and a place to protest your commanding officer's decisions. That time and place is *not* after he or she has made a decision, do you understand?" 

"Yes, sir! I understand, sir! Twenty, sir!" Kirk replied, continuing his extra training. 

"I told you once before that on *this* crew *I'm* the Captain; *I* make the decisions; *I* give the orders! *Your* job is to follow orders; to listen; to learn; to keep your mouth shut unless asked your opinion! Cadet, your opinion was *not* asked! Do you follow me?" 

"Yes, sir! Thirty-five, sir!" 

"Because I *am* the Captain, because I *make* the decisions, and because I *give* the orders, the responsibility for those orders is *mine*! With the position comes responsibility. I *accept* that responsibility, Cadet. When you're in *my* position, when *you're* appointed Captain--should that dark day ever occur--then Cadet Kirk, and *only* then, will you be responsible for the decisions made and orders given." 

"Yes, sir! Forty-five, sir!" 

"Recover, Cadet! I swear, I've *never* seen a more pathetic display of athletic inability. Starting tomorrow, we work out a half- hour in the gravity gym. And just so Cadet Mitchell doesn't feel that I'm devoting too much personal attention to you, he's invited. I'm sure he'll appreciate it." 

"Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!" 

"Don't thank me, Cadet, I'm just doing my job!" Delaney turned and faced Arrowsmith. The hard lines on her face, softened to a fond smile. Arrowsmith managed to keep his face straight through the whole episode. 

Delaney was the Academy's current strongest leadership example and she was mentoring the Academy's potentially strongest officer candidate. The future of Starfleet was in extremely capable hands as long as the Academy continued turning out cadets of the caliber of these two. 

"Cadets, I think I know how you two *can* help, while at the same time keep you out of danger . . . 

#### Chapter Thirty-five 

Kirk stood outside the Commandant's office at stiff attention. The SAS officers were on either of both Delaney and him. Delaney looked haughtily proud and unyielding. Commander Hume was arguing with the Commandant's Aide, Commander Hightower. 

"We *must* see her now! Today!" Hume spoke in low angry tones, his voice carrying across the room. The rest of the Commandant's staff was pointedly ignoring him. "We have evidence of such an explosive nature that we could be talking major fiasco out in all the frontiers." 

"I'm sorry, Commander Hume, but as I said before, the Commandant will be tied up in a virtual conference with the C-in-C and the UFP President for several more hours. If you will leave whatever information you have with me, I will pass it on to her as soon as she's free." 

Hume gave a single harsh nod. He was barely able to control his outrage. Before following Hightower, he addressed the SAS officers but kept his eyes boring into the two defiant cadets. 

"Watch these two. They're not to move, to blink, anything! Captain Arrowsmith is currently reconvening the Honor Board. As soon as I'm done here, we're to meet him." 

Hume looked at Griffin and Okazaki. 

"You're authorized to use whatever force necessary to keep them put. Do you understand?" He turned back to Kirk and Delaney. "Unlike Captain Arrowsmith, I don't have a soft spot for clever kids." 

With that, he spun on his heel and followed Hightower to his office. Before they entered, Kirk saw Hume speak in low tones to Hightower. Hightower nodded, walked over to the desk communit, and called the downstairs watch officer. 

"Lieutenant Mendoza, this is Commander Hightower." 

"Lieutenant Mendoza speaking. How may I help you, sir?" 

"Please send Yeoman Lake up here. I need someone to record official meeting notes. You know I'd do it, but--" he smiled helplessly. 

Lieutenant Mendoza's musical laugh could be heard over the air. "I understand, sir. Don't worry, that recording equipment has been the bane of many a Commandant's Aide. Yeoman Lake will be right up." 

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Hightower signed off. 

Hume and Hightower entered the suite of offices reserved for the Commandant's Aide. A few minutes later, Yeoman Lake, appearing crisp and efficient, her hair combed up in cascading curls, walked up and knocked on Hightower's door. She entered immediately. 

Kirk and Delaney waited outside for a seemingly interminable length of time. Kirk's neck started to feel stiff; his back began to hurt. Worse, he could feel a small, annoying trickle of sweat begin to worm its way down towards the small of his back. He was finding it difficult not to squirm. 

He stole a glance at Delaney. She looked as cool and confident as she always did, just another day on parade. What is she *made* of, Kirk wondered again. Doesn't she have *any* nerves? 

"Eyes front, Cadet!" Griffin barked. Kirk immediately stared straight ahead. "And don't think for one second that I've forgotten about that little kick to the chin." 

"Yea," Okazaki agreed. "I haven't forgotten that right cross, either." 

Kirk swallowed. He felt beads of perspiration suddenly break out on his forehead. 

A few minutes later, the door to Hightower's office opened and Hume emerged. Standing in the doorway, he called back, "I'd appreciate whatever help you can offer, Matt. Captain Arrowsmith wants to close this thing as quickly as possible and return to his ship." 

Hightower emerged, and placed his arm around Hume's shoulder. 

"I'll do whatever I can, Chris. You've got my word. As soon as the Commandant becomes available, I'll give her a complete briefing." 

The two commanders shook hands. 

"Thanks, Matt," Hume said. He looked better than when he'd gone in. 

Looks like mission accomplished, thought Kirk. 

While the two commanders were saying their good-byes with a few personal inanities thrown in, Yeoman Lake stepped out of the office. She had the transcript data disk in her hand. 

"Excuse me, sir," she said, politely interrupting the two senior officers. "Will that be all for now?" 

"Oh, I'm sorry, Yeoman Lake," Hightower apologized. "Yes, that'll be all for now. Please be sure to send me a hardcopy of the transcript ASAP. You know the Commandant . . . she likes paper copy when she reads. None of this new-fangled electronic copy for her." 

Lake smiled. "Of course, sir. I'll have a hardcopy to you as soon as possible." 

With that, she nodded pleasantly and walked towards the lifts. As she left, Kirk caught a faint trace of jasmine lingering behind. 

Hume nodded towards Hightower, then walked up to the two SAS officers. 

"Do it," he said cryptically. 

Griffin nodded, took out a hand communicator, flipped it open and spoke tersely into it. 

"Go!" He received two beeps in acknowledgement. Griffin nodded at Hume. "Done, sir." 

"Very well," Hume acknowledged. Then speaking louder, he added, "Cadet Delaney, you and your entire Sim/Tac crew will be under SAS guard for the next twenty-four hours. I received a message from Captain Arrowsmith while in Commander Hightower's office that the earliest we can reconvene the Honor Board is tomorrow around sixteen hundred. Until then, each member of your team will be under armed escort." 

He smiled dangerously. 

"Don't worry. SAS knows how to be very discreet. Who knows, it's even possible that none of the other cadets will notice that you have personal babysitters as you make your way around campus." 

Giving Kirk and Delaney a self-satisfied smile, he addressed Griffin and Okazaki. 

"Take care of our young, misguided felons. We wouldn't want anything to keep them from meeting with us tomorrow, now would we?" 

Griffin and Okazaki returned Hume's smile. 

#### 

Chapter Thirty-six 

Kirk and Mitchell sat alone at their mess table, pariahs in the eyes of their classmates. Even Nasta and Macudzinksi hadn't made their usual appearance. Of course, having Griffin and another SAS officer standing guard over them might have been intimidating their two friends. 

"Lieutenant Griffin," Kirk addressed the SAS officer, "aren't you and your partner going to eat? I give you my word, neither Cadet Mitchell nor I will try anything funny." 

"Coming from you, Cadet Kirk, that *is* very funny indeed," Griffin replied. "We'll eat when we're properly relieved and not before." 

"Yes, sir," Kirk replied. Mitchell gave him a sympathetic look. The two SAS officers hadn't exactly been on familiar terms with them since they'd started their watch. Mostly they just looked threatening and grim. 

"Hey, Jimmy-boy! Mitch!" both cadets looked up to find the source of the friendly shout. 

Macudzinksi and Nasta were winding their way around the crowded First Year Cadet Mess. 

"Where've you two ol' boys been hidin' yourselves? Nasty'n me've been lookin' all over here an' back for you!" 

Griffin's partner barred their way. 

"No one approaches Cadets Mitchell and Kirk without first being scanned." 

"Yes, sir!" replied Nasta, swallowing nervously. "Uh, sir, would you mind not--?" 

The SAS officer grinned wickedly, taking a prophylactic out of Nasta's backpocket. 

"Hey! Grif! Looky here. Seems these firsters are always prepared!" He tossed the offending object towards Griffin. "Weren't you looking for some last night?" 

"Funny, Krueger, real funny!" Giving it a cursory glance, Griffin tossed it back to Nasta. "It's past its expiration date, kid. If I were you, I'd buy me a new one, just in case." 

Macudzinksi interjected, "Aw, Cadet Nasta's been carryin' that nasty ol' thing on himself all year now. Just hasn't had the opportunity to use it." 

"Hey! I've had *plenty* of opportunity," Nasta protested. "Lots of it! I just don't like to throw out the old ones. You know . . . emergency backup . . . Hey, it's the god's honest truth! I swear!" 

Lieutenant Griffin didn't bat an eyelid. "Sure kid." Then a bit grudgingly added. "Go, on. You're both clean." 

Nasta and Macudzinksi immediately joined their two friends. 

"So what's going on?" asked Macudzinksi. "And don't try to sell me no parcel of land in the middle of a swamp. Nasty'n me ain't buyin' this *guilty as charged* BS. We know you two." 

"Yeah," agreed Nasta. "You'd no more steal War Fighter or violate the Honor Code than a whole planetful of Vulcans." 

Macudzinksi gave him a sour look. 

"Nasta, I swear, what do *Vulcans* have to do with this?" 

"Zinc, I thought that being a Texan was just about the worst thing I could say about you. Now I know different!" 

Macudzinksi gave him a suspicious look. 

"What do you mean?" 

"I mean, for crying out loud, that it's bad enough that you're a Texan, but you're also an *ignorant* Texan! And, brother, they just don't make them any more ignorant than that!" 

Nasta paused dramatically. 

"Anyone can tell you that Vulcans are probably the most honest people in the whole galaxy. Catch a Vulcan lying, and it's probably a human who's been surgically altered!" 

"Nasta," Macudzinksi said carefully. "Shut up!" 

Kirk and Mitchell were observing with long-suffering looks. 

"You think they'll lock us up and throw away the key?" Kirk asked wistfully. 

"Lord, I hope so," replied Mitchell, "if it'll keep these two clowns away." 

Nasta reached over to punch Mitchell good-naturedly on the arm. He accidentally knocked over Kirk's lemonade in the process. The tangy liquid spilled across the table, instantaneously soaking Mitchell's trousers. 

As soon as the lemonade had spilled in his direction, Mitchell, too late, had hastily jumped up, knocking his chair backwards. Macudzinksi and Kirk immediately grabbed napkins and began trying to mop up the mess. Exasperated, Mitchell also took one and uselessly tried damping the spreading stain on his uniform. 

Nasta looked on with the bewildered look of one who is totally unaware of his own actions. 

"Nasta! I swear, sometimes," Mitchell sputtered in extreme annoyance. "You're a menace, you know that? We need to get you a personal *shield* or something!" 

"It was an accident," Nasta protested. "It could've happened to anybody, right Zinc?" Zinc gave him an unsympathetic look. 

Kirk had stopped mopping. What had Mitchell just said? 

"Gary," Kirk interrupted his friend's tirade excitedly. "Repeat what you just said!" 

Mitchell was still muttering to himself. 

"Gary!" Kirk walked up to Mitchell and grabbed him by the shoulders. Mitchell looked up still irritated. "What did you just say?" 

"What? That Nasta's a menace?" 

"No, the other thing." 

"You mean that he needs a personal shield?" Mitchell asked confused. Then defensively, "Well, he does! Of all the clumsy . . ." 

"Never *mind* all that!" Kirk interrupted. "A personal shield . . . a personal shield . . . that's it! Gary, that's it! That's how she *did* it!" 

"Did what?" asked Macudzinksi. "Who did what?" 

Ignoring his friends, Kirk turned to Lieutenant Griffin. 

"Sir, that's how she did it! Don't you see? She needed to be protected against the multiple gravity for at least a split second. Then once Merrick was unconscious, she somehow exited the gravity room. But she *needed* to remain in there long enough to set it. She couldn't have lured Merrick in there if the gravity was already set at twenty times Earth normal. The safety doors wouldn't have opened." 

"That's well and good, Cadet Kirk, but you forget one thing. The gravity doors were closed when you arrived, and, I've checked the complex with a fine toothed comb. There's only one exit from the g- room. Anyone exiting would have passed in front of you." 

Kirk noticed that Griffin at least looked interested in the theory. He hadn't just dismissed it out of hand. 

"And, Jimmy," interjected Mitchell, "remember, what *I* sensed. Merrick hadn't been in danger until a few seconds after we entered the gym." 

"That's true," Griffin nodded. "No one could've survived twenty-g for more than a few seconds anyway." 

"Then what we have is an old-fashioned locked door mystery," volunteered Macudzinksi. At the others' looks, he added, "Haven't you Yankees ever read Sherlock Holmes? Oh, sorry, I forgot. Most of you can't read." 

"Who's Sherlock Holmes?" asked Mitchell. Nasta shrugged his shoulders. 

Kirk smiled. "A very famous nineteenth century detective. I believe he smoked a pipe, wore a weird hat, and played the violin. Hung out with a doctor named Watson." 

"I knew you'd know, Jimmy-boy!" Macudzinksi said approvingly. "You may be a farm boy from Iowa, but you've got the heart of a Texan. You sure your family ain't transplanted Texans or something?" 

Jimmy smiled no. 

"So what's your point, Zinc?" Nasta asked exasperatedly. 

"My point?" Macudzinksi asked guilelessly. Grinning, he affected a Texan's idea of a British accent and added, "The point, my dear, Nasta, is elementary." 

He smiled. 

"If someone in a locked room exits said locked room, but does not exit via the sole set of doors going in or out, then . . . Cadet Kirk, would you care to elaborate?" 

"Why, thank you, Mister Holmes," Kirk bowed in mock formality. "Then . . . it stands to reason that said individual did not exit by said door . . . rather . . ." 

" . . . Rather," Griffin took up the thread, "said individual exited by another route." 

"But if there's only one door--" protested Nasta. 

"One door, yes," nodded Macudzinksi, "but . . ." 

" . . . other means of escape," finished Kirk. 

" . . . other means, such as--?" asked Griffin. 

" . . . other means, such as a transporter room," finished Mitchell. 

All eyes turned to him. Mitchell looked like he'd finally found the missing piece to a puzzle that had been giving him particular problems. 

"A transporter room. That's why I sensed danger, for only a split second. What I felt from Merrick was suffocation, a crushing sensation . . . that feeling was different from the danger that accompanied it . . . I confused them because I thought that the danger and suffocation were one and the same . . . Instead, the danger was *not* something he was experiencing . . . it was some*one* . . . Someone in the g-room with him. Someone who was gone by the time Jimmy broke in and found Merrick lying unconscious." 

"Transporter," Griffin said nodding his head. "Makes sense, Cadets, makes a lot of sense. And I happen to know where there's one on campus." 

At Kirk's questioning look, he said succinctly, "Headquarters." 

Suddenly everything fell into place. "Of course! That's how Delaney beat me there the first time! Then it should be relatively simple to check for unauthorized usage?" He made the last a question rather than a statement. 

Griffin nodded. He pulled out his communicator. 

"Griffin here. Find Captain Arrowsmith, let him know that we may have something for him." 

The other end acknowledged. 

"Well, now, Cadets, didn't I hear someone invite me and my partner to dinner a few minutes ago? I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm starved. What do you say, Krueger? Think the First Year Cadet Mess roast chicken is as dry as I remember?" 

Mitchell shook his head. 

"Don't worry, sir," he began. 

"With Nasta here, nobody's food ever stays dry for long," finished Macudzinksi. 

"What's everyone talking about?" asked Nasta as they all made their way back to the mess line. "That wasn't my fault . . . honest . . . it was a simple accident . . . hey, it happens!" 

#### 

Chapter Thirty-seven 

The Aegis crew exited the building together. The second Honor Board hadn't been any more fun than the first. 

Senior Cadet Commander V. C. Delaney had been severely reprimanded for the actions of her crew. The Board had adjourned for the evening without reaching a final decision on an appropriate punishment for the lot of them. 

Unlike the first Board, the cadets had all been marched into the chambers together, single file. They'd formed, dressed right dressed, in front of the Honor Board. Seven cadets standing stiffly at attention, their futures uncertain. 

Yeoman Lake sat discreetly in the court reporter seat. Apparently, this time the proceedings were going to go on the official record. 

Kirk looked at Arrowsmith. His cold demeanor rivaled an Iowa winter. No more mister nice guy. 

Commander Kwaku Nkengi read the long list of charges against the cadets. "Conspiracy . . . breaking and entering . . . unauthorized accessing of Starfleet personnel files . . . unauthorized use of military and commercial transmission channels . . . disobeying the orders of the Honor Board . . ." 

Nkengi's monotone droned on citing Starfleet regulations, sub- paragraphs, and an interminable string of legalese that passed completely over Kirk's head. Suddenly, Nkengi singled him out for special consideration. 

"Cadet James T. Kirk," Nkengi continued, "you are also charged with resisting arrest and striking two superior officers, Lieutenant Gregory H. Griffin and Lieutenant Li W. Okazaki, while in the performance of their authorized duty as Starfleet Academy Security officers. How do you plead to these charges?" 

Nkengi paused and turned a bored look at Kirk. 

"Guilty, sir," Kirk choked out. 

"Court Reporter," Nkengi addressed Yeoman Lake, "please indicate a plea of *Guilty* to the charges of resisting arrest and striking superior officers." 

Yeoman Lake nodded and efficiently did as requested. 

Nkengi nodded at Arrowsmith who turned to face the properly chastised group of youngsters standing before him. 

"Thank you, Commander Nkengi," Arrowsmith said. Then addressing the cadets, his voice suddenly became dangerously cold. 

"In all of my years of service, I have never seen anything that has so disgusted me as this extremely messy business. A Starfleet cadet who violates his or her oath, who dishonors the uniform which he or she is privileged to wear, reflects poorly on this stalwart institution and all who have come before." 

Eyeing each cadet in turn, Arrowsmith's eyes came to rest on Delaney. 

"However, the one in whom I am the most disappointed is you, Cadet Delaney. You've been entrusted with the highest honor this Academy can bestow on any cadet--the rank of Senior Cadet Commander. As such, you are *the* example of what Starfleet Academy considers the best of the best. Your actions these past few days reflect poorly not just on yourself, but on the position you hold and on the Academy itself. 

"This Board will adjourn in private chambers in order to confer further on a suitable punishment. Do you understand?" 

"Yes, sir," Delaney replied softly. Then stronger added, "Sir, request permission to speak." 

"Permission granted, Cadet," Arrowsmith replied. 

"Sir, whatever happened, whatever my crew did or failed to do, I am responsible. As Captain, I accept full responsibility." 

"Thank you, Cadet," Arrowsmith replied. "We shall take that into full consideration. Dismissed." 

So, now they stood outside the building, not quite looking at each other. Cadet Fletcher looked like his spirit had just been crushed out of him. 

"I don't know how I'm going to face my family," he whispered. "All that work . . . all that studying." 

He looked at the others. 

"I have two older brothers currently serving on starships right now . . . a lieutenant and a lieutenant commander . . . my Dad's in the admiralty, a two-star . . . even Mom served until my oldest brother was born . . . Both of my grandfathers served . . . and *their* fathers before them." 

Fletcher shook his head, swallowing. The tears were dangerously close to spilling. 

"They were so proud when I received my acceptance letter. What am I going to *say* to them?" 

"The truth," said Kirk simply. "You're not guilty of anything. Not like me . . . I broke into that office and stole information . . . and punched out the two SAS officers." 

Kirk shrugged his shoulders. 

"I admit it, and I'll take whatever punishment the Board imposes. But none of us is responsible for what happened to War Fighter. If our families ask, the truth is all we have left." 

Fletcher nodded despondently. Kirk determined to keep an eye on him for the rest of the evening. He looked around. Their SAS babysitters were still posted near at hand. Kirk knew that each officer was just close enough to react to anything that the Aegis crew might attempt. 

Not that we'd be stupid enough *to* try anything, he thought wryly. I guess we'll all have someone keeping an eye on us tonight. 

"Hey, what do you say to a Sim/Tac exercise?" asked Delaney. "Graduation is still five weeks away. We haven't finished our training yet." 

"Now that's what I call optimism," said Zyglowicz wryly. "We've just been dismissed from a second Honor Board . . . this time they actually have *real* charges against us . . . and you're talking about graduation." 

"Yeah! Exciting, huh?" Delaney returned grinning, affecting a devil-may-care stance. "I don't about you guys, but I feel a SimEx is exactly what the doctor ordered. It'll get our minds off the axe, and who knows . . . we may even win!" 

Kirk wasn't sure if she was referring to winning against the scenario or the charges against them. 

"I think that's great!" he volunteered, his enthusiasm infectious. "It may be the last time I get my hands on a Marauder helm. I don't about the rest of you, but I think that's the hottest baby in Starfleet's arsenal. Nothing compares to its handling!" 

"Oh, I don't know," Wellington said, looking askance at Zyglowicz. "I know a few things in Starfleet that handle just a little hotter." 

Zyglowicz blushed furiously at his meaning. 

Not understanding, Kirk asked innocently. "Like what? Dad's always bragging about the Constitution class, but I've studied the specs, the Marauder flies rings around it." 

Delaney smiled fondly. Walking up to her youngest crewmate, she placed her arm around his shoulder and started walking him towards Sim/Tac Five. 

"You're absolutely right, Cadet Kirk. Nothing in Starfleet's arsenal handles quite like the Marauder." 

Zyglowicz jabbed an elbow in the Wellington's ribs, causing him to double over in real pain. 

Pointing a finger at him, she hissed threateningly, "You just wait . . . You *owe* me!" 

The others followed Delaney and Kirk, grinning widely. 

#### Chapter Thirty-eight 

"I'm sorry, Cadet Delaney, but that's absolutely impossible!" 

Commander Kopeck stood with his arms crossed, blocking the entrance to Sim/Tac Five. 

"The Honor Board is currently investigating you and your crew. I'm afraid there just isn't any chance that I'm going to allow you inside the simroom." 

"Begging the Commander's pardon," Delaney answered smoothly, "we were called in for questioning and released. The last time I checked, being questioned by the Honor Board does not constitute guilt." 

"Cadet Delaney, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to insist--" 

"Cadet Delaney is absolutely correct." 

Kopeck and the Aegis crew all whirled around startled. Captain Arrowsmith and Commander Hume were walking up towards them. 

"Cadet Delaney's crew was questioned and released. There have been no charges brought up against them." 

Arrowsmith came up and stood next to Kopeck. He barely came up to Kopeck's jutting chin, but somehow he still managed to look taller. 

Dad's right, Kirk thought, height doesn't matter. 

"Captain Arrowsmith," Kopeck spoke solicitously, "I'm sorry, sir. I was informed that Delaney's crew was about to be indicted for breaking and entering." 

"Really?" Arrowsmith said, feigning shock. "Now, how did you hear about that? Commander Hume, did you perchance inform Commander Kopeck of such a likely occurrence?" 

"Why, not that I recall, sir . . . Oh, but just a second . . . I seem to recollect discussing this with the Commandant's Aide . . . yes, sir, that's it . . . Commander Hightower and I discussed this in his office." 

"Tell me, Chris, were you two alone at the time?" Arrowsmith had affected a bland tone. 

"Why, now that you mention it, sir," Hume said echoing Arrowsmith's tone, "no, we weren't. Hightower's yeoman--Lake, I believe is her name--was also there. She was doing whatever it is yeomen do. Funny, I never thought of this before, but I suppose that yeomen are almost invisible. You know always there, in plain sight, working quietly, discreetly." 

"Yes," Arrowsmith agreed, dragging it out as if giving it due consideration. He snapped his fingers. "Why, Commander Hume, it just occurred to me that this yeoman--Lake you said?--was also recording the Honor Board proceedings less than forty-five minutes ago. How interesting that the two times in which the cadets' possible punishment was mentioned . . . behind closed doors . . . Yeoman Lake was present--recording the secret proceedings." 

"Yes, most interesting. I wonder . . . how many secrets do you suppose that Yeoman Lake has been privy to in her career?" Hume added. 

"An interesting question, Chris. Tell me, Commander Kopeck, how long have you known Yeoman Lake?" 

The question surprised Kopeck. 

"What--? How long--? Oh, how long have I known Yeoman Lake? Well, let me see, sir . . . Yeoman Lake has been working in my division for approximately eighteen months now . . . I believe she was transferred to the Academy shortly before that . . . I'm not sure." 

"That's not my question," replied Arrowsmith, his tone belying his smile. "I didn't ask you how long she's been working here, I asked you long have you known her?" 

Kopeck shook his head, shrugging his shoulders at the same time, confused. 

"I don't understand, sir," he responded perplexed. "I've known her for the eighteen months she's been working here." 

"I see," Arrowsmith said quietly, holding out his hand to Hume. "Commander Hume, please." 

Hume took out a communicator, the new flip-open palm-sized units that Starfleet was currently issuing for starship duty, and slapped it onto Arrowsmith's open palm. 

Wellington, standing next to Kirk, gasped in excitement. 

"I'd like get my hands on *that* baby," he muttered. Kirk looked up him shaking his head. A communicator gets him excited. Ruth, he doesn't notice. What a strange guy. 

Arrowsmith flipped open the communicator and spoke into it. "Now." 

To Kirk's surprise, a transporter shimmer began immediately next to the group. He saw that three figures were beginning to materialize. Finally, Lieutenants Griffin and Okazaki formed. Held between them, stood Yeoman Lake. She looked slightly disheveled. Her normally carefully coifed hairdo falling over her eyes. 

No doubt due to Griffin and Okazaki's gentle handling, Kirk thought wryly. 

Arrowsmith addressed the two SAS officers. 

"Lieutenants, I don't believe that it'll be necessary to restrain Yeoman Lake. We're all members of the same team here, right Yeoman?" He looked at her paternally. "You're not going to try anything are you?" 

Lake shook her head angrily. 

"I thought not," he said smiling magnanimously. 

Arrowsmith nodded at the two SAS officers who released her immediately. Kirk noticed however that they didn't step away from her. 

"Yeoman Lake, by the way," Arrowsmith continued, "I didn't get a chance to thank you earlier for recording the Honor Board proceedings today . . . Those things are always so thanklessly dreary, don't you think? Cadets being accused of violating their Oaths . . . better to weed them out now, than allow them to graduate and possibly commit something worse in the future when they have access to truly sensitive information." 

Smiling innocuously, Arrowsmith walked up to Lake. 

"Tell me, Yeoman. Commander Hume and I were wondering . . . how many secrets might the yeomen of the fleet be privy to? Do you have any inkling?" 

Refusing to look him in the eye, Lake shook her head, no. 

"Do you have *any* idea, how many of those secrets go to the grave, as they should, because the yeomen in question were bound by their oath of secrecy?" 

Again Lake shook her head, no. 

"For that matter, I wonder how many of those secrets may find their way into enemy hands, because some people don't know what the word *Honor* means?" Arrowsmith added. 

"Or, if they *did* know its meaning once, they lost it somewhere along the way," agreed Hume pointedly looking at Kopeck. 

Arrowsmith also turned to face Kopeck, whose face had suddenly blanched and broken out in perspiration. 

"What do *you* say, Commander Kopeck? Do *you* know what the word *Honor* means?" 

"Of course I know what it means," Kopeck said a bit pompously. "I've served for almost twenty-five years. I've always been bound by my Oath and my duty." 

"Yes, of course, you have," replied Arrowsmith raising a single eyebrow. "Commander Hume?" 

Hume immediately produced his tricorder, adjusted it to what seemed a predetermined setting, looked at the information that suddenly came up, and then handed the instrument to Captain Arrowsmith. 

"Let's see . . . Commander Kopeck, it says here that you've been in Starfleet for almost twenty-five years. Just five years shy of retirement at full pay and benefits. A remarkable achievement . . . truly." 

Arrowsmith said eyed Kopeck thoughtfully. 

"I'm not sure that *I'll* last that long . . . you know life on the final frontier can be a little hectic . . . Oh, but, you wouldn't know about that would you?" 

"What do you mean?" Kopeck asked insulted. 

"I mean, Commander, that you haven't had a chance to experience any of the dangers that comes with the job, have you? Graduated in the middle of your class, not brilliant, but no slouch either. 

"Served as attache to some Federation diplomat for a few years, transferred to Spaceport duty here, then served as the Mars Colony Starfleet liaison for Civil Defense. 

"Finally, about ten years ago, you requested and received transfer to the Academy cadre, first working as a simcrew duty officer and, when promoted to your current rank, eventually ending up as the Sim/Tac OIC." 

Arrowsmith paused, cocking his head to one side. 

"Not exactly an exceptional service record, but nothing to be ashamed of, either. Then about six years ago, something happened . . . a black mark in your personnel jacket. You were caught in a . . . shall we say *compromising* position with a cadet . . . a fourth year cadet, I believe, whose grade point average was about to get her recycled or dismissed. 

"The board recommended the cadet for recycle, but she resigned instead. You, on the other hand, received a severe reprimand for conduct unbecoming. That reprimand has kept you from receiving any further promotions or positions of increased authority and responsibility." 

Arrowsmith stopped his recitation of Kopeck's life and failures. Placing his hands on his hips, Arrowsmith began walking around Kopeck, inspecting him, like Delaney had first inspected him, Kirk recalled. Coming to a halt in front of the taller officer, Arrowsmith squinted up at him. 

"Tell me, Commander, what's it like, seeing your classmates and even some who graduated after you, being promoted ahead of you. Several of them have already achieved flag rank, others are commanding starships, while you vegetate here at the Academy, forgotten by most, laughed at by those who *do* remember you?" 

Kopeck looked like he was about to break, but somehow found a reserve of inner strength that Kirk had to admire. 

"I don't know why you're doing this, sir, but I assure you that I've never done anything to violate my Oath to Starfleet." 

"Commander Kopeck," Arrowsmith said, changing the subject, "whatever happened to that cadet do you know? What was her name by the way . . . the official files were sealed to protect her identity." 

"I don't know," he shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir, it's been a long time . . . as you can probably understand, I've done everything possible to forget that dark moment in my past." 

"You don't remember her name," Arrowsmith said, his flat tone conveying disbelief. "Yeoman Lake? Would *you* know the name of that cadet?" 

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Lake shot back disrespectfully, her anger giving her an increased bravado. "I don't even know why I'm here! I've sat in on enough Summary Courts and courts-martial proceedings . . . I have rights . . . a right to counsel . . . a right to know why I've been brought in for questioning . . . SAS just came to my quarters, and next thing I know I'm being transported here . . . I'm not a cadet . . . you can't question me without due process!" 

"No, you're not a cadet," agreed Arrowsmith. "But you once were, weren't you? Six years ago to be exact. Cadet Esther Laikind . . . bottom percentile of her academy class, both in academics and leadership . . . brought in before Captain's Mast on at least four occasions for possible Honors violations." 

He paused looking at her thoughtfully. 

"Three of the charges were dropped for insufficient evidence, the fourth was sent to the Honor Board . . . however, the cadet who first brought the charges was herself summarily dismissed . . . therefore, once again the charges were dropped against Laikind. The other cadet committed suicide within a month of her dismissal because of the shame." 

"You have no *proof*!" Lake hissed, her anger transforming her normally cool beauty into an ugly mask of hatred. "You said it yourself! Those records were *sealed*! And even *if* what you say is true, it's all inadmissible . . . You've got *nothing* on me . . . *sir*!" 

Lake almost spat out the last word. 

"Commander Hume?" Arrowsmith turned to his assistant. 

Hume immediately activated his tricorder, then began scanning Yeoman Lake. 

"Chemical and biomolecular make-up is identical to what we scanned in the g-room, sir. Analysis indicates a derivative of the Terran flowering bush, Trachelospermum jasminoides, commonly known as Star Jasmine. This essence is relatively expensive, but may be purchased at any over-the-counter establishment that sells exclusive perfumes and cosmetics." 

Lake looked at them suspiciously. "What are you talking about?" 

"Oh, pardon us, Yeoman Lake," Captain Arrowsmith apologized. "Commander Hume has just placed you, or at least your perfume, in the g-room where Cadet Merrick was almost killed recently." 

"That's *it*?" Lake hissed. "My per*fume*?" 

Starting to laugh, Lake shook her head in open disbelief! 

"Oh, you and you're toy soldiers here are gonna have to do a lot better than that, Captain!" She jerked her head in Hume's direction. "Your trained monkey here just said that it can be bought almost anywhere--the last time I looked, wearing expensive perfume wasn't a crime!" 

Arrowsmith looked at Hume. Hume faced Yeoman Lake. 

"Yeoman Estee Lake, also known as, Esther Laikind, you are under arrest for suspicion in the attempted murder of Cadet Robert M. Merrick, the theft of the War Fighter Simulation and Battle Plans, and for suspicion of espionage against the government of the United Federation of Planets." 

Lake stood in mute shock. 

"You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will--" 

"--I know my rights," Lake interrupted. "You have *nothing* on me! You're all just a bunch of high and mighty officers . . . protecting each other just like the last time!" 

She looked at Kopeck in disgust. 

"Your *Honor*! Don't make me laugh! Where was your honor six years ago when you agreed to give me a passing grade if I only performed a few additional *duties* for you?" 

Lake made a move as if to attack Kopeck but was immediately blocked by Griffin and Okazaki. She laughed sardonically. 

"Still protecting him I see," she said bitterly. "I get canned by the Academy; he gets a slap on the wrist." 

She turned to Arrowsmith. 

"I've *seen* Starfleet justice before . . . so don't give me any- -" she uttered a word that even made Zyglowicz blush, "--you know you don't have anything on me! So go ahead and arrest me. I'll be out in less than two hours." 

Arrowsmith nodded at the two SAS officers. 

"You heard the lady. Take her in." He looked at his wrist chronometer. "Whoa! Look at the time! After nineteen hundred hours. Commander Hume doesn't the military magistrate's office close at seventeen hundred?" 

Hume nodded in response then added helpfully, "Yes, sir, and while today is only Thursday, this *is* a holiday weekend. I'm afraid that their offices won't open again before zero eight hundred hours on Monday." 

"Monday, you say?" Arrowsmith asked taken aback. "How inefficient. My apologies, Yeoman Lake, but as I'm sure you're well aware, sometimes the wheels of military justice do come to grinding halt. I'm afraid you'll just have to spend the next seventy-two hours at the expense of the UFP. I'm sure you'll find Starfleet accommodations simple, but quite comfortable." 

He nodded at Griffin and Okazaki, who quickly grabbed Lake by the arms. She stood still, looking defiantly at Arrowsmith. 

"Enjoy your victory, Captain. Come Monday, we'll see just how empty it is." 

#### 

Chapter Thirty-nine 

Kirk and Delaney exchanged uneasy glances. They'd known that Arrowsmith was attempting to entrap Lake into revealing her involvement. That's why they'd staged the whole charade up in the Commandant's offices and later the Honor Board with Lake a discreet eyewitness. 

But Lake was correct. Arrowsmith had little better than a Pyrrhic victory, one that had come at the high cost of revealing his hand. However, with no evidence other than the perfume, he had nothing. 

The other cadets had had no idea of the subtle subterfuge that Arrowsmith had been playing; therefore, they were shocked by the revelations that had been uncovered in front of them. 

Kopeck looked like a condemned man who'd had the noose tightened around his neck, only to be given a last second reprieve. He faced Arrowsmith with a carefully respectful expression on his countenance. 

"Will there be anything else, sir?" he asked blandly. 

"Yes, as matter fact there is," Arrowsmith replied. "The cadets here have lost a lot of Sim/Tac time because of this unfortunate business. I'd like to make it up to them, by allowing them to do a SimEx right now. What do you say, Commander? Think the Academy's toughest instructor could give these kids a break?" 

Kopeck looked like he was about to refuse, but thought better of it. 

"Of course, sir, I believe we can accommodate them. However, it's going to take a few minutes. My simcrew has already left for the holiday weekend. I'm afraid I'm going to have to find some last minute replacements. At this late hour, I don't promise you that I'll be able to find anyone." 

Arrowsmith smiled. 

"Oh, you needn't worry about *that*, Commander Kopeck. Commander Hume and I are both qualified Marauder commanders capable of operating any and all of the bridge positions. We can easily monitor the Sim/Tac OIC stations with you. If you need any more personnel, Commanders Rickenbach, Nkengi, and McClanahan are all fair hands at it as well. But then, you knew that already didn't you?" 

Kopeck nodded reluctantly. 

"Of course, sir. My simcrew personnel were all excited that two well-known Marauder commanding officers, such as yourself and Commander Hume, would be on campus for an extended period. And of course we know of the qualifications of the rest of the members of the Honor Board . . . Rickenbach is an experienced first officer, McClanahan, an engineer, and Nkengi, a science officer. My staff officers have asked me to request your participation in a War Fighter simulation when this investigation is complete." 

"Did they really?" asked Arrowsmith pleased. "Well, consider the request approved . . . so, Commander Kopeck, do we allow the cadets another crack at War Fighter or not?" 

"With you and Commander Hume in the monitoring room, sir, what can go wrong?" asked Kopeck. 

"What indeed?" returned Arrowsmith grinning widely. 

Kopeck immediately opened the hatch leading into the simroom. Delaney and her crew filed in, a deeply subdued crew of cadets indeed. 

Kopeck then led Arrowsmith and Hume to the door leading to the Sim/Tac monitoring room. To his surprise it was already powered up and occupied. Commanders Rickenbach, McClanahan, and Nkengi were sitting at three monitoring stations. 

Arrowsmith gave Kopeck a "what can I say" shrug. 

"Surprise!" Arrowsmith smiled at Kopeck's scowl. "Ricky, status!" 

"War Fighter Sim stations are go, Captain!" Rickenbach reported. 

"Good," Arrowsmith nodded. Turning to McClanahan he asked, "Chance, time to StartEx?" 

"We are at T-minus thirty minutes and counting, Captain." Arrowsmith nodded his acknowledgement. 

"K-man!" Arrowsmith walked up to Nkengi and gripped his upturned palm in easy camaraderie. "You've got the honors." 

Nkengi flashed a wide grin at his squadron commander, and turning his chair to face the rest of his fellow officers gave them a thumbs up. The rest of the Marauder Squadron's senior officers returned it as one. All for one and one for all . . . 

#### 

Kopeck looked on enviously. 

Captain Arrowsmith was well respected, even beloved, by the members of his Marauder group, officers and enlisted alike. Kopeck remembered Arrowsmith from their Academy days together. That dig earlier about his classmates and those that came afterwards being promoted ahead of him had hurt . . . deeply. 

Kopeck and Arrowsmith had been classmates. The others present had been junior to them. Arrowsmith, even then, had commanded respect and awe from others. 

Kopeck remembered him "adopting" cadets from the junior classes, and taking them personally under his wing--sort of in line with the mentoring program that Commodore Lorraine had recently implemented. 

But Arrowsmith had needed no command structure or guidelines instructing him to do so. He'd mentored the junior cadets simply because he was that sort of a person. He liked to help others. And today, that solicitous behavior was paying off with senior officers whose loyalties to him had been forged in the Academy. 

What would Kopeck do to command that type of respect? 

The cadets feared him, of course. His was the toughest class in the Academy. They had to get through him in order to get inside a real spacecraft. 

And Kopeck had done his job well. In the ten years on the job, he could honestly say he'd turned out some top-notch young officers to crew Starfleet's finest ships. 

And what had been his reward? he thought bitterly. A reprimand, ensuing disgrace for a time, then worse, apathy as he faded from the memories of his fellow officers. Forgotten by those with whom he'd gone through school, a laughingstock for those who recalled his one indiscretion. 

Why did Lake have to return after all these years? Kopeck lamented. 

She was *still* as desirable as he remembered her from her Academy days. God help him, he'd been in love with her. But she'd used him. Seduced him for a measly grade. Once he'd passed her, she'd laughed at him. Mocked his prowess in bed. Called him a nothing. 

Lake would've gotten away with it too, except that blinded by a white fury, Kopeck brutally showed her what a *man* he was. He'd forced her to . . . his mind and deep guilt refused to go there. That hadn't been him, he denied . . . it had been an animal . . . an animal whose lusts were his own undoing . . . for their raised voices had alerted a guard and they'd been caught. 

Lake, or Laikind, had been offered the chance to recycle. After all, the Board considered her more sinned against than guilty. However, in defiance she'd resigned instead. 

As for Kopeck, he'd been severely reprimanded; however, the Academy had managed to keep the details of the summary court relatively quiet. Therefore, due to the intransigence of the cadre, the whole sordid affair gradually faded from memory. Eventually, there was no one left who even remembered the scandal. 

Until now that is. He felt that noose tightening again. Arrowsmith wasn't finished, of that Kopeck was sure. He just didn't know what the Marauder Squadron commander was up to. 

Jasmine! What a fool he'd been! On impulse, he'd purchased the expensive fragrance. He'd intended it as a door opener, a way to get reacquainted with Lake. He'd recognized her the minute she'd reported in. It had been all he could do to keep a professional facade in place. 

He'd arranged to meet her that very night, and of course, they had taken up where they'd left off all those years ago. The years had made her even more desirable, more demanding, more mockingly cruel. While raising him to newer heights of ecstasy than he'd ever known, she belittled his performance. 

She brutalized him with her words; he returned the favor by physically abusing her during their lovemaking. 

Lovemaking? He thought sardonically. More like two animals clawing at each other. Their mutual violence in bed kept escalating. 

Kopeck wanted to kill her; her scornful laughter nearly drove him insane with fury. But then she'd whimper that little girl whimper and do things to him that he'd never even dared dream about. Before he knew it, he was hooked. He needed her as desperately as an addict needed a drug. 

Lake was his lover, his slave master, his mother. He loved her with the devotion of the emotionally crippled, and would do anything for her. 

Kopeck showered her with expensive gifts. A relative loner, he'd never had occasion to spend much of his Starfleet salary. Soon, Kopeck started dipping into his life's savings and retirement funds. He didn't care. He had to show her how much he loved her. 

In an act of juvenile sentimentalism, he'd gifted her with a bottle of the jasmine perfume each month. Like a fool, he'd bought it at the same fragrance counter each time. The saleswoman knew him so well, that she now had the bottle wrapped and ready for him. 

Soon, Kopeck had gone through his savings, and started buying on credit. Before he knew it, he was in over his head in debts. 

Firmly in her grip, Lake coerced him into committing high treason. It was so easy the way she made it sound. She'd planned it all. She even knew some buyers. 

"They're willing to pay over half a billion credits for War Fighter!" she'd whispered seductively after they'd finished making love. "Think of it! No more Starfleet, no more work . . . just luxury for the rest of our lives!" 

Kopeck had laughed in disbelief. 

"You're crazy! Commit treason? We'd never get away with it!" 

Kopeck had smiled fondly, and caressed her cheek. She had a bruise that he'd just given her in a fit of passion. She winced at his touch, then bit his hand drawing blood. 

He gasped feeling his desire growing. 

"You know I can't violate my oath. Don't worry. I'll take care of you. A commander's salary is fairly respectable." 

She sat up in disgust. 

"You call *this* living?" 

She waved her arm taking in their surroundings. They were in the Fairmont Hotel, one of San Francisco's most exclusive, registered under assumed names. Kopeck had finally just rented it on a permanent basis. The staff was known for its discretion. 

"What are you *talking* about?" Kopeck laughed, sounding hurt. "This happens to be the best hotel in town!" 

"It's a rat's nest!" she hissed back at him. "I'm offering you a chance to make *real* credits . . . more than you've seen in your entire miserable life . . . and what's your response?" 

She mimicked him disgustedly. "I can't violate my oath!" She looked daggers at him. "Is that your final answer?" she asked getting out of bed. 

He'd nodded, frightened at what he suspected was about to happen. 

"Very well." Lake nodded and began getting dressed. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me. Oh, and Commander Kopeck, sir," she continued sarcastically, "don't bother calling me otherwise. If you won't do this, I know I can find someone who will." 

He'd held out for two weeks. 

But seeing her each day at work, beautiful, efficient, smiling easily at the other male officers and enlisted men, he'd felt a growing sense of desperation and despair. 

In the end, he wound up begging. Only afterwards, on his hands and knees, holding onto her legs, blubbering like an infant who's lost his mother, did she finally lay her hand on his head, as if offering a blessing, and let him make love to her. 

#### 

They immediately began to implement her plan. Each night, she soothed any remaining doubts he'd had, allowing him to make love, real love to her . . . gentle, compassionate, mutually fulfilling. 

Lake had found a cadet who, like her a few years ago, was desperate to the point of near suicide over possibly failing. She seduced him first, gained his confidence, and then passed him the necessary MDU codes for stealing the War Fighter. 

Once Merrick had transmitted the plans to a predetermined subspace channel/receiver, it was Kopeck's job to walk in on him and "catch" him in the act. Merrick didn't know about Lake's relationship with Kopeck. 

It was almost laughable. 

Merrick was still shutting down the systems when Kopeck and two SAS officers appeared and took him in. Frightened and weak, but deathly afraid of Lake, Merrick began rattling off names of cadets who'd had nothing to do with the affair. 

This was even better than expected. SAS and then Arrowsmith's investigators had to look into each allegation. This would buy Lake and Kopeck time to pass the War Fighter to their buyers. 

Unfortunately, SAS released Merrick to his quarters, rather than keep him locked up in the brig. Merrick, in an unexpectedly bold move, contacted Lake and threatened to expose her. 

Lake again came up with the solution. Kill Merrick. They'd used the VIP transporter chamber in the admin building, and equipped Lake with a personal shield and transporter transponder code. 

Luring Merrick into the gym was too easy. The boy thought with his . . . well, not with his brains, anyway. After he was in, she locked the doors, ostensibly to keep out prying ears, she'd reassured him. Then, within minutes, she activated her shield, turned the room's gravity to twenty-times Earth normal, and signaled for retrieval. 

As soon as she stepped off the transporter chamber, she came to Kopeck and made love to him right there. 

"I wanted to do this in the grav room," she'd whispered seductively, "but unfortunately Merrick couldn't stand up once the gravity got turned up to twenty, much less perform." 

She'd laughed, an ugly deriding laugh which almost undid him, but then, like an aphrodisiac, made him perform all the more violently passionate. He'd deliberately hurt her, and had left her lying there naked on floor, whimpering. Nevertheless, the following morning, she'd reported for work as coolly crisp and efficient as always. 

#### 


	4. Honor Code (Part 4)

Chapter Forty 

A sudden laugh shared amongst friends brought Kopeck back to the present. Captain Arrowsmith was talking. 

"You will *not* believe this kid! Talk about chutzpah! *I'm sorry sir, but the Captain has been grossly misinformed*!" Arrowsmith was barely able to sputter the words, he was laughing so hard. "Chris, I thought you were going to blow a gasket!" 

"I wasn't too *far* from it, I'll admit. I wonder if the Academy Board of Regents knows about this little Federation law protecting minors?" 

"I don't know," Arrowsmith replied, "but *I'm* not going to tell them. I want to see what *else* George's kid has up his sleeve. I'm almost afraid to find out." 

"I can't believe ol' straight-laced George Kirk has such a . . . I don't know . . . unorthodox kid," Rickenbach said thoughtfully. 

"You don't really know George, Ricky," Chance replied. "Finest security officer in the fleet . . . and that's only because he *turned down* Command School. Said he wasn't interested in glory, just in doing his duty." 

"You mean he's only interested in always being there to pull Bob April's butt out of the fire. I swear, April thinks he's indestructible, always leading landing parties the way he does . . . It's a miracle the guy isn't dead yet!" 

"Hey! Captain's prerogative," protested Arrowsmith. 

"You're just upset 'cause you turned George down for a date once," teased Hume. "Next thing you knew, he'd met someone else and gotten himself married . . . Still carrying a grudge, huh?" 

"I don't know what you're talking about," Rickenbach returned coldly. 

"Yup, ol' straight-laced George Kirk's just about the most married man I know," Hume said smiling wickedly. "All he talks about are his two boys and his beautiful wife. Kinda gets in your craw doesn't it?" 

Rickenbach gave him an "Oh please" look, then turned back to her monitor. She caught sight of Cadet Kirk. His young, studiously serious face reminded her of his father. He had the same intensity and complete focus for the job at hand. 

But he didn't look like his father. Rickenbach had met George's wife, Winona, shortly after their marriage. She remembered a beautiful petite woman with laughing hazel eyes and hair the color of wheat spun gold. The same features she saw in front of her now. 

Cadet Mitchell said something to Kirk, which caused him to suddenly smile, a smile so bright that it completely transformed his serious features. Rickenbach felt her throat constrict. 

Seeing Winona's smile on the boy, Rickenbach experienced a momentary pang of regret flit across her face. 

Some women have all the luck, she thought. #### 

"Captain Delaney," Nkengi spoke over the loudspeaker, "you are in command of the NCC zero zero nine seven USS Aegis . . . Marauder Class . . . crew complement of fifty. Prepare to accept download of sim/data." 

Delaney acknowledged. 

Arrowsmith sat back and allowed his officers to run the simulation. He had good people and believed in allowing them to do their jobs. Besides he wanted to spend as much of his time observing the Aegis crew. 

These kids were good--real good. 

He glanced over at Kopeck while Nkengi went through the pre-ops drill with the cadets. He looks like he's swallowed something that disagrees with him. I wonder how *I'd* feel knowing that I'd almost sold out the Federation? 

Arrowsmith glanced at the simchrono. T-minus ten minutes. All systems at go. Funny how they still fell back to the terminology from the early space program. There was so much tradition represented here in the Academy . . . by the cadets . . . by the officers training future officers. Even by the forms of greeting and farewell one offered a crew about to embark on an extended voyage . . . 

" . . . Godspeed, Captain," Nkengi concluded. 

Arrowsmith could almost feel the suddenly electrified atmosphere in the simroom. They're almost as excited as the cadets, he thought. Sure brings back memories . . . the sims weren't quite so realistic back then, but they were real enough. Got my butt beat enough times, that's certain. 

The warning buzzer went off signaling StartEx. 

"Sound battle stations!" Delaney's voice barked over the intercom. 

Arrowsmith heard the acknowledgements coming from all of the bridge stations, the red alert siren whooping in the background, the bridge lighting suddenly dimming to a muted red . . . Again, a tradition from those days gone by of an ocean-going fleet. The red light helped the bridge crews' eyes adjust to the dark, critical for men at war who had to step outside at night onto pitch-black decks. 

No one "stepped outside" anymore, but the red bridge lights remained. 

"Captain!" the communications officer, Wellington, Arrowsmith remembered, was listening intently. "Extreme forward sensors detect bogies on intercept course . . . three . . . no, four . . . NO! SIX! . . . That's a confirmation! Six bogies on intercept vector! Approximately twenty light years out and closing!" 

Wellington's usually cool businesslike facade had cracked when he'd realized the extraordinarily high number of enemy vessels approaching. 

"First Officer! Identify!" Delaney ordered. 

"Class five thrusters . . . impeller star drive . . . approaching near warp eight . . . weight approximate to the Marauder . . . Orions, Captain . . . they are shields up and weapons powered!" 

"Well, at least, we can dispense with the niceties," Delaney replied. "Mister Kirk, I believe that the better part of valor is in order . . . one hundred eighty degrees about!" 

"Aye, Captain," Kirk immediately acknowledged, executing a 180 degree turn with minimum fuss. "Gary, give me a plot to the nearest star system with gas giants . . . preferably one with lots of natural satellites!" 

"You got it!" The young navigator, Mitchell, quickly began to compute a new plot. "Here it is . . . M-type star with thirteen planets . . . the outer five are all gas giants . . . the innermost has twenty . . . no, twenty-one moons!" 

"Captain, request permission to alter course to the star grid on your board!" 

While Mitchell had been working out the plots, the bogies had closed the distance to within ten light years. Close enough for photon torpedoes. They were splitting into three groups of two each, trying to close in on the Aegis from three different angles. 

"Permission granted! Execute! Warp nine!" Delaney didn't bother studying the star charts that Mitchell had sent to her board. "Engineer, how long can we hold this speed?" 

"The repairs from our last encounter had been incomplete, Captain. Our dilithium crystals have just about had it . . . fifteen minutes at the most!" 

"Pilot, how long to the star system?" Delaney asked tensely. 

"Seventeen minutes, sir!" 

"Engineer, you've gotta give us seventeen minutes!" 

Zyglowicz looked nonplussed, but nodded her acknowledgement. 

"Mister Fletcher, is there some reason that they're giving us a pounding and we're not returning the favor in kind?" 

"Sorry, Captain, adjusting the firing computer for maximum spread and random firing order!" Fletcher's voice had a definite near-panic squeak. "Ready to fire, Captain!" 

"Fire, Mister Fletcher," Delaney replied dryly. "Before we get waxed." 

The Marauder began to send its "in kind" replies to the closely following enemy. Fletcher managed to hit two bogies straight off . . . two down, four to go! 

Kirk was piloting a combination of computer-aided, manual flying. Thinking of what Fletcher had said about a random firing order, he quickly called out, "Captain! Is there a pattern to their firing sequence? Maybe we can use it to our advantage?" 

Seeing his point immediately, Delaney turned to Wolfe who was already checking his sensors. 

"That's it, Captain!" Wolfe confirmed excitedly. "There's a definite pattern!" He continued to read his board intently. "At least twenty bursts to the bow's starboard, then aft port . . . ten shots to the bow portside, then aft starboard." 

Wolfe looked at Delaney. "On my mark, the next shots will be to the bow's starboard . . . " 

"Mister Kirk . . . stand by . . . ready to cut to port on Mister Wolfe's mark . . . " Delaney quickly ordered. 

"Aye, Captain," Kirk acknowledged. 

"Mark!" called Wolfe. 

Kirk instantly executed a hard turn to port, spinning the Aegis on its forward axis. Fletcher, meanwhile, had the firing computer shoot omni-directionally. The result was that two bogies immediately along the Aegis' x and y axis received crippling hits amidships. 

Kirk pulled out of the spin, cut to starboard to avoid being hit by the enemy's targeting computer that like clockwork had started firing at the Aegis' aft portside. 

The Sim/Tac officers' admiration was almost palpable. 

"How about *that*?" McClanahan said. "I happen to know a couple of active duty pilots who wouldn't have been able to make that call." 

"And Delaney," added Rickenbach. "She didn't argue, or become locked in a useless, *I'm the Captain* debate . . . she took his suggestion and acted on it." 

"That's a well-oiled team, led by a hell of fine young Captain," Arrowsmith proclaimed. 

They nodded their heads in agreement, then went back to watch the fun. Because fun it was . . . these kids were making up some seat of the pants moves that were leaving the experienced officers breathless with anticipation. 

Watching Cadet Kirk abruptly drop out of warp and fly the Aegis into the protection of the gas giant's satellite orbits, Arrowsmith winced. Yikes! This kid's a flying menace! 

Two bogies were still in hot pursuit of the Aegis. 

Kirk deliberately flew seemingly straight into the gas giant's largest moon at full impulse. The Sim/Tac crew could actually feel their stomachs turn as Kirk suddenly pulled up at the last second, and started flying a nap of the earth pattern. 

The two bogies were still on his tail. The red warning light indicating that they were being successfully targeted went off. 

"Mister Kirk . . . " Delaney began. 

Kirk was flying a traditional ziz-zag pattern, avoiding the worst of the enemy's phasers, but still taking a beating. 

"That pattern's too regular . . . he's gonna get them . . ." 

Unexpectedly, Kirk cut his aft thrusters, and simultaneously reversed his forward momentum. The result was that the two bogies literally overshot the Aegis. 

The bogey to their starboard suddenly veered up along its z-axis, narrowly missing a mountain that loomed out of nowhere. The second bogie wasn't quite so lucky. It slammed into the mountainous terrain, instantly going up in a warp core breach. 

Without missing a beat, Kirk brought the Aegis up and behind the sole remaining bogey. 

Excitedly, Delaney ordered, "Fire phasers!" 

The remaining bogey disappeared in a fiery plume. 

The cheers inside the Aegis' bridge were echoed in the Sim/Tac. The senior Marauder officers were giving each other high fives. 

#### 

Chapter Forty-one 

"That's what *I* call flying!" Hume shouted. 

"Quiet!" called Nkengi. "I can't hear what the Captain's saying." 

Chastised the Sim/Tac officers quieted down. 

"Mister Kirk, that was a fair piece of flying," Delaney congratulated her young pilot. "Mister Mitchell, good job on finding this star system so quickly." 

Pilot and navigator beamed at each other then continued with the job at hand. 

"First Officer, damage report." Wolfe nodded acknowledgement, then turned and pointed at Wellington and Zyglowicz. Wellington immediately turned to his console and began his damage report drill. 

"All stations, damage report . . . " Wellington's calm, quiet voice could be heard over the ship's intercom. 

Zyglowicz, meanwhile, was in an intense conference over her direct line to engineering. 

"Not *good* enough! We'll need warp ten on this mission . . . less than that will make us sitting ducks. Well, for crying out loud, haven't you tried diverting the . . . " 

Zyglowicz' annoyed voice could be heard over the Sim/Tac's loudspeakers. Suddenly, she uttered a string of expletives that caused McClanahan, an experienced engineer with a few ships under his belt, to nearly spill the hot coffee he was about to drink. 

"Sweet mother of . . . where did she pick up *that* kind of language? Never in my all my years working engineering have I heard anything like it!" 

"Pretty disgusting, huh?" asked Rickenbach. 

"Hell no! Did you listen to what she *said*?" McClanahan replied. "She didn't repeat a single word. I've never heard anyone express themselves so . . . singularly." 

"Is *that* what you call it?" Rickenbach retorted, wincing at his bad pun. 

"Hush! You two!" called Nkengi. "We can't hear what the cadets are saying . . . " 

" . . . orders," finished Delaney. 

"Aye, Captain. Computer, this is the First Officer, break out War Fighter Trainer sealed Operations Order Number zero zero one four nine six point two six. Acknowledge." 

"Working. Sealed Operations Order Number zero zero one four nine six point two six requires voice activated code." 

"Computer, this is the Captain," Delaney stepped in. "Voice activated code Delta Alpha zero three zero slash three execute." 

"Working. Access complete." 

The Sim/Tac crew watched and listened intently as the image of Commodore Lorraine appeared and congratulated the crew for successfully evading the six-to-one odds. 

" . . . Time is running out for any hope of finding the crew of the USS Argus alive. The vessel and all hands disappeared over four solar days ago. Any chance of rescue and recovery grows exponentially smaller with each passing hour. Again Aegis, your mission . . . " 

Lorraine repeated the original mission. 

Arrowsmith spun his chair to face Kopeck. "You've done a fair job with them, Commander." 

Arrowsmith unconsciously echoed Delaney's earlier praise of Kirk and Mitchell. Kopeck nodded mutely. 

"Your Sim/Tac class has the reputation of being the toughest course in the Academy. If a Command Track cadet wants to see the inside of a real ship's bridge, he or she has to pass your exacting standards. Those kids in there have learned to anticipate . . . to trust each other *and* their equipment. More importantly, they've learned not to settle for less than success." 

Arrowsmith gazed intently at the fallen officer. "You should be proud of yourself." 

Again Kopeck nodded, not meeting his eyes. 

"So, Commander, having said all that, why don't you tell me about War Fighter? You know that there isn't any chance you'll ever get away with it. You've a left a trail of breadcrumbs leading straight to you." 

Arrowsmith had his right elbow on the arm of his chair, his cheek resting on his fist. He was slouched low on the seat, his feet tucked in behind the chair's swivel base. Using the toes of his boots, he was absentmindedly swinging his seat back and forth. From this angle he was looking up at Kopeck. 

Arrowsmith was the picture of perfect relaxation. 

"We've traced the jasmine perfume to a certain little exclusive shop in Ghirardelli Square . . . the saleslady was most cooperative . . . Funny, I almost bought a girl some Ghirardelli *chocolate* once, but changed my mind . . . thought it was too expensive." 

He shook his head. 

"Is that perfume *really* three hundred credits for just a three ounce bottle?" 

Kopeck nodded. Arrowsmith looked at Kopeck genuinely amazed. 

He turned his attention momentarily to the Aegis' bridge. Delaney was holding a staff conference with her senior officers. Cadets Kirk and Mitchell were going through practice maneuvers, planning their angles of approach to the Orion Pirate base. 

"The concierge at the Fairmont Hotel recognized two-D holos of both yourself and Lake . . . Oh, rest assured, he was most uncooperative at first . . . something about protecting the identity of the Fairmont's elite clientele . . . Of course, when we threatened to charge him and the entire staff with being accomplices after the fact to treason and attempted murder, he suddenly saw the light." 

Arrowsmith shrugged. Kopeck looked at him, his shame working across his facial features. 

"Your finances are in a state of flux . . . apparently you're living on credit, and several of your creditors are getting close to starting legal procedures . . . that is, the legitimate ones . . . the others are undoubtedly planning something a little more painful. So tell me . . . did you have time to pass a copy of War Fighter to the Orions?" 

At Kopeck's startled look, Arrowsmith smiled, raising a single eyebrow. 

"Oh yes. We know about the Orions . . . SOI has been closely investigating a sudden influx of activity from our pirate friends. We weren't sure at first why there was such an increase of sub-space communications from their *secret* transmission stations. Then War Fighter disappeared . . . and mysteriously reappeared . . . we were able to put two and two together." 

He gave Kopeck a wide-eyed, disingenuous glance. 

"So, like I asked . . . did you have time to pass it to the Orions?" 

Kopeck shook his head resignedly. 

"We didn't think so." 

At Kopeck's startled look, Arrowsmith shrugged. 

"Our covert operatives report that the Orions' are mighty unhappy about the whole affair . . . The UFP has implemented an old-fashioned gunboat diplomacy around known, as well as, heretofore supposedly *un*known, pirate strongholds . . . nothing goes in . . . nothing comes out . . . It's basically brought the Orions' clandestine livelihood to a grinding halt . . . We didn't *think* you'd had the time to pass on the War Fighter . . . your finances certainly haven't shown a sudden inflow of new wealth, but we had to make sure." 

Arrowsmith stopped, suddenly interested in the Aegis' stealth approach to the star grids where the known pirate activity had been recorded. He was impressed by how the cadets were using astronomical bodies to camouflage their advance. 

"And if that isn't enough evidence to suit you, we traced the unauthorized use of the HQ transporter to your pass codes. Furthermore, we put a trace on all outgoing transmissions from Yeoman Lake in the past twenty-four hours. On both occasions that she sat in on confidential meetings regarding the cadets, she relayed the information to you. So we have you, and you know it." 

While he spoke, Arrowsmith continued to follow the cadets' approach intently. 

"The question is, what are we going to do about Lake? We need your help to prosecute her as well. Unfortunately, we are bound by law not to make any deals with felons indicted for murder or attempted murder--" 

"--Forget it!" Kopeck immediately snapped. "I *won't* turn state's witness. God help me, I've done so much that I'm ashamed of in the past few months . . . but I won't betray her! Do you understand me? I won't!" 

"I see," Arrowsmith looked at Kopeck with varying degrees of sadness, pity, and contempt. "You know we can't hold her after Monday. Without state's evidence she walks. Is that what you want? To go to prison for something we're all fairly sure she concocted?" 

"Who says she concocted it? Or that any of it was *her* fault? *I* planned it! *I* lured Cadet Merrick into that gym. *I* hid it in Sim/Tac Five!" 

"The last item I'm certain of," Arrowsmith replied. "As for the previous ones . . . come on, give me break! Kopeck, we searched your quarters. For crying out loud, you still roll your socks, like 'sif you were still a cadet waiting for an unannounced inspection . . . You're incapable of such deviousness . . . or at least of planning a heist that would violate your oath and betray everything you've ever believed in . . . No, you're guilty all right, but not of the actual planning." 

"I tell you I won't betray her! I *love* her! Can't you understand? I'd do anything for her . . . *any*thing . . . ! 

"You are one pathetic mother's son, you know that?" Arrowsmith asked disgustedly. "Look at those kids in there! They're going to make some fine young officers one day. You're partially responsible for that! Do you *really* want your legacy . . . what you're remembered for . . . to be that of a traitor to everything you've ever held important?" 

Kopeck stood looking defiantly, refusing to acknowledge Arrowsmith. The other officers in the Sim/Tac pointedly ignored the conversation between them. 

Arrowsmith sighed. 

"Chris, the tricorder, please." Hume tossed it to Arrowsmith who caught it one-handed. Arrowsmith activated it, and adjusted its settings. 

"Okay, let's see . . . Yeoman Estee Lake . . . AKA Esther Laikind . . . AKA Estelle Lakin . . . AKA Star La Kier . . . yep, our cool and efficient yeoman has a rap sheet longer than my arm. Not bad for someone not quite thirty, huh?" 

Arrowsmith gave Kopeck a wry look. 

"Apparently when Cadet Laikind resigned from the Academy she dropped out of sight for a few months, then reappeared on Wrigley's Pleasure Planet as the very popular and highly in demand *hostess*, Star La Kier . . . That is, until a *customer* filed a complaint that she'd had him rolled . . . lured him into a sleazy hotel room where a male accomplice overcame him and basically robbed him." 

He paused. 

"Not very original, I'm afraid. She was brought in for questioning, and released on bail pending a hearing. She skipped the planet along with the highly irate customer's credit codes. She wiped him out before he was able to change them . . . As for the male accomplice, he was found in a back alley a couple of days later . . . His throat had been cut." Arrowsmith winced. "Crude but effective, I suppose." 

The sudden sounds of battle caught his attention. 

#### 

Chapter Forty-two 

The Aegis had engaged a trio of pirate vessels that were busily attacking a Federation cargo carrier. 

Two other pirates were running a hit and run delaying action against the transport's escort vessel. The escort was too preoccupied holding off its own attackers and was therefore unable to provide covering fire for the cargo carrier. 

Delaney leaned forward over the navigation console. While studying the tactical display before her, she almost absentmindedly input data onto Mitchell's board. 

"Mister Kirk . . . on my mark execute the program on Mister Mitchell's board." 

"Aye, Captain," Kirk acknowledged without looking up. He was concentrating on giving Fletcher the best firing advantage without opening the Aegis to deadly counterfire. 

Seeing an opening in the Orions' attack sequence, he brought the Aegis up and over the UFP cargo ship, looped below it, and came up and behind two of the pirates. Fletcher fired a full salvo of torpedoes and phasers, destroying one pirate, and seriously crippling the second. 

Their action suddenly brought them to the attention of all the pirates, including those who'd been playing tag with the escort vessel. The pirates suddenly came about and veered a beeline towards the Aegis. 

They were about to get caught in the deadly pincers of a four-to- one attack. 

"Helm," Delaney called out. "Stand by . . . steady . . . Mark!" Kirk immediately executed Delaney's program. 

The Aegis dropped thirty thousand kilometers on the z-axis, pirouetted gracefully in a corkscrew pattern, came up and about, and immediately centered herself between three of the pirates. 

"Fire phasers!" Delaney ordered. "Torpedoes, three hundred sixty degree full spread!" 

"Multiple targets engaged! Phasers fired! Torpedoes away!" called Fletcher. 

Kirk's eye finally deciphered the Aegis' positioning on the tactical display. They were executing a Knight's fork, just like in chess. Each of the Orions was well within the Aegis' deadly killing zone, much like chess pieces caught in the classic trap. 

"Captain, two of the Orions have sustained hits . . . the first to his starboard nacelle, the other amidships. The first is spewing an anaphasic plasma stream . . . he's lost his impeller star drive . . . the second's outer shields are weakening," Wolfe reported. 

"Concentrate your fires on the second, Mister Fletcher!" 

"Aye, Captain!" The Aegis' lethal weaponry suddenly focused on the pirate's weakened shields. In less than an eye-blink, the shields collapsed, and the Aegis sliced through his hull. He went up in a lovely display of awesome, raw pyrotechnics, releasing the power of a small sun. 

"A direct hit to the warp core!" Wolfe excitedly reported. 

The Orions, caught off guard, recovered remarkably quickly and instantly began to return fire. However, Delaney's program was successfully anticipating their attack sequence, which was similar to that of the Orions they'd fought against earlier. 

Realizing their fatal mistake, the sole remaining healthy ship began to fire a furious barrage of deadly torpedoes and phaser-like weapons. To Kirk's amazement, the pirate was actually trying to help his allies escape. 

Honor among thieves, he thought wryly. Kirk's hands were itching to resume control of the helm. He fought the impulse to wrest control from the computer, however. Finally, Delaney gave the command he'd been waiting for. 

"Mister Kirk, resume manual control." 

Kirk immediately punched the manual override. The pirates had broken off the attack and were beating a hasty retreat. The pirate that hadn't sustained any perceptible damage was covering their withdrawal. 

"Mister Fletcher stand by. Mister Kirk, show him your stuff." 

"Aye, aye, Captain!" 

Without looking at each other or even bothering to verbalize their requests, Kirk and Mitchell went to work. Mitchell fed him plots, then quickly fine-tuned them. 

Kirk took each plot and adjusted his helm accordingly. The healthy pirate was obviously fighting a delaying action, engaging the Aegis then hightailing it out of range, a hit and run procedure. He was becoming irksome. 

Kirk and Mitchell looked at each other. They'd had just about enough. How do you surround the enemy when all you've got is one vessel? You try to sucker him. 

Kirk called out to Zyglowicz. "Ruth! What do you have for playing possum? Something that'll make us look like we've been hit hard?" 

"Not much, just some flotsam and jetsam." 

"Huh?" Kirk clearly didn't understand. 

"Sorry, poor joke . . . One handy-dandy, radioactive possum ready and waiting. It emits a highly charged radioactive isotope similar to the ones the warp drive generates as a waste product." 

"Captain, request permission to try something," Kirk asked. 

"What exactly are you going to try?" Delaney demanded. 

"The next time he fires, I'm going to bring the Aegis just within his phaser range. As soon as he fires, I'll shut down the warp drive, drop out of warp, and release the possum. Then, we'll see . . . " 

"I don't like it . . . too risky," Delaney replied. 

"Captain, I know I can fly her to within a hair's breadth of their range. She'll sustain minor scratches and bruises, but I promise I won't let the bad guys lay a hand on her." 

Delaney looked at Kirk steadily. Finally, her countenance broke into a ruthless grin. 

"Do it!" 

Kirk nodded acknowledgement. He and Mitchell waited patiently for their opportunity, following just out of range of the Orions' torpedoes, firing in return. 

"He's charging his phasers," Wolfe called. Call it Zen, telepathy, or just plain dumb luck, but Kirk and Mitchell immediately sent the Aegis into the Orions' phaser fire. Kirk kept the Aegis just out of maximum range; however, she still sustained minor damage. "Number two shield at eighty-five percent!" Zyglowicz called. 

As soon as he'd felt the Aegis take the hit, Kirk shut the warp drive and dropped her back to normal space. 

"Release the possum!" he called. Zyglowicz immediately complied. Kirk and Mitchell began a fair job of making the Aegis look not quite dead in the water, a crippled hunter who'd suddenly become the hunted. They turned her 180 degrees about, and started limping back to the relative safety of the nearest star system. 

The possum, meanwhile, was generating a high concentration of radioactive pulses, letting the Orions know that a Marauder Class Federation vessel was ripe for the taking. 

Come on, come on, Kirk thought intensely. Take the bait . . . We're so scared . . . and helpless . . . We know what Orions do to Federation prisoners. 

The Orion bit . . . hook, line and sinker as Kirk's grandfather used to say! 

"He's turning about!" Wolfe called excitedly. "He's dropping out of warp . . . approaching on standard impulse . . . intercept in fifteen light seconds!" 

Wait for it . . . steady . . . now! Kirk punched the warp drive, bringing the engines, shields, and weapons back online. Too late, the Orion realized that he'd been tricked. Fletcher had already fired a full salvo of photon torpedoes. The Orion disappeared in a sudden nova-like explosion. 

Mitchell slapped Kirk on the back in congratulations. The more senior cadets smiled indulgently. 

"Let's follow them home, Mister Kirk!" Delaney said smiling, satisfied. 

"Aye, Captain!" 

#### 

Chapter Forty-three 

The Sim/Tac echoed with the sounds of cheers. The senior officers inside were acting more like cadets than the cadets were. 

"This calls for a drink!" suggested McClanahan. "There's a bar I know on Fisherman's Wharf that serves real Kentucky bourbon . . . none of this replicator stuff . . . *and* the best Dungeness crab in the area . . . Whaddaya say we all adjourn there afterwards?" 

The others met his suggestion with resounding cheers. 

"Food and drink on Chance!" 

"All right! Can't miss that!" 

"Chance McClanahan's going to part with his credits? *This* I've gotta see!" 

"Hey! Who says I'm buying?" McClanahan protested. "I never said . . . " His protests were met with a sudden barrage of wadded paper and good-natured boos. 

Their camaraderie dug deeply into Kopeck's guilt. He'd never been a part of a group. He'd always felt like an outsider, never able to make friends easily. He'd hidden his hurt and disappointment by withdrawing and avoiding social contacts, never accepting invitations to dinner or after work drinks. Maybe if he hadn't been such a loner, been so desperate for companionship, he wouldn't have fallen under Lake's spell. 

Arrowsmith had been watching Kopeck closely throughout his team's sophomoric antics. 

"So, Commander, where were we?" he asked. "Ah, yes, Yeoman Lake . . . as I said, her male accomplice was found quite dead, his throat slashed, almost to the vertebrae . . . well, our intrepid young lady made a few other appearances throughout the Federation's slightly less than reputable colony worlds . . . let's see Estelle Lakin and a John Doe male accomplice are wanted by Federation civil authorities for suspicion in the death of an eighty-year old gentlemen . . . I guess age doesn't necessarily equate to wisdom . . . she apparently married him and he died suddenly, of a heart attack, I believe." 

Arrowsmith shook his head at human foibles. 

"The gentleman's family reported his death as suspicious, since he'd just had a new heart put in less than two years before . . . his doctor had reported him in perfect health . . . She'd already cashed the insurance claim, as well as, transferred the bulk of his liquid assets to several untraceable accounts . . . As for her accomplice, authorities were able to find trace amounts of DNA residue in a hotel room where he'd been reported as staying. Forensics report states that the residue indicated signs of military grade phaser fire. Apparently, the poor sucker had been disintegrated." 

Arrowsmith looked at Kopeck, not quite amused. 

"Are you beginning to see a pattern here? Lake's male accomplices have a definitely reduced lifespan . . . oh, and, let's not forget Cadet Merrick . . . and, please, don't try to tell me that *you* did it, Kopeck. Merrick showed definite signs of having just had sexual intercourse . . . with a female . . . his medical examination found traces of fluids on him . . . definitely recent." 

Kopeck thought back to how she'd practically thrown herself at him, in a fit of heat so soon after trapping Merrick in the gym. His relief that she'd been successful, that the threat to their happiness had been neutralized caused him to respond to her needs almost immediately. 

If only she hadn't taunted him relentlessly with veiled suggestions about having wanted Merrick in the gym. He would've been tender; he wouldn't have hurt her the way he had. Now Arrowsmith was telling him that she'd had sex with Merrick prior to trying to kill him? No . . . that wasn't true . . . she loved *him* . . . she wouldn't have betrayed him like that! 

Arrowsmith smiled with rueful admiration. 

"Gotta hand it to the lady. When she sets her mind to something, she pursues it with a single-minded determination. Which brings me to how she wound up here at the Academy . . . 

"SOI reports that a certain mysterious woman appeared then quickly disappeared on Aurora, a minor colony world that's known to have an Orion base. Covert operatives reported a human woman making quiet inquiries in several less than reputable bars. SOI put a tail on her, but lost her . . . apparently she was grabbed off the street by persons unknown onto a waiting anti-grav flyer. 

"They figured she was shark bait, until recently when Starfleet and Federation Intelligence combined their investigation. And guess what? Yeoman Estee Lake was identified as the mysterious woman on Aurora." 

Kopeck swallowed painfully. He knew he wasn't going to like the rest of the story. 

"So why did Esther Laikind suddenly enlist in Starfleet and manage to wrangle an assignment here at SFA? Because *you* were here . . . you were part of the equation from the start." 

Kopeck was shaking his head in denial. 

"SOI theorizes that Lake felt confident that she could turn you and enlist your help in stealing War Fighter, then sell it to the Orions. But you see, she never intended to *sell* it . . . it was already sold . . . all she had to do now was deliver it . . . and you were the mailman." 

Kopeck sat down suddenly. His legs looked like they couldn't support his weight anymore. 

"She's used you from the start . . . just like she's used every other man she's ever worked with . . . just like she to tried use you six years ago when she was a cadet . . . and what do you bet that you were also slated to meet with a similar fate as her other accomplices?" 

Kopeck hung his head in shame. "No," he whispered shaking his head. "She loves me . . . she told me . . . God help me, I believed her." 

The tears were falling unchecked by now, the picture of a completely broken man. He'd betrayed his oath, his government, himself. Lake had called him a nothing once. She was right. He had nothing left. 

"It was ridiculously easy," he began, as if in the middle of a conversation. "SAS should look into just how easy it actually was . . . several of the offices don't follow protocol in changing the computer codes every twenty-four hours . . . also, the clerks use foolish passwords that a child could break in about five seconds . . . their own names, names of their family members . . . that kind of thing. 

"After Merrick was released, we knew that things were too hot to try to pass War Fighter to the buyers, so I downloaded it into Sim/Tac Five. I thought it was a brilliant move . . . none of the cadet crews had ever beaten the meteorite scenario the first time, and none of the crews scheduled had been pitted against it yet." 

He shrugged, then smiled almost proudly. 

"I'm afraid I hadn't anticipated Cadet Kirk. His own brilliance in the one-man simbooth kept getting him waxed. He kept trying to make his equipment do stuff it wasn't designed to do. Of course, you and I both know that the equipment is capable of doing more than its designers ever expected, but we like to keep the firsters honest." 

Kopeck smiled, a genuinely fond smile. 

"He and Delaney are probably the two best who have ever come through my class, and Kirk is already surpassing Delaney. Anyway, I hadn't anticipated his becoming part of her crew . . . That's something I had nothing to do with, by the way. The Commandant apparently decided to start her mentoring program, and in order to jump-start it, she ordered several crews reshuffled." 

Kopeck suddenly laughed. 

"There were some mighty upset senior cadets, let me tell you . . . Here they were, less than ten weeks from graduation, and we were changing the crew complements . . . ostensibly because of the scandal . . . but it was actually to start integrating junior cadets as part of all the crews." 

He paused, remembering being accosted by several angry team Captains. It had been all he could do to allay their fears . . . he'd basically told them to handle it, or resign from their positions. 

"When I heard that Delaney's crew had beaten the meteor shower the first time, I almost went into a panic. I immediately told the Sim/Tac duty officer that I'd take the debrief the next day. My Sim/Tac crew had not seen the real War Fighter scenario. We don't normally review the protocols until a week before the final exams." 

He gave a short laugh. 

"This is to ensure its secrecy. Therefore, they didn't realize that the scenario being played out that day was the real thing, and not one of many training scenarios that they hadn't had a chance to view before . . . I guess not reporting the discrepancy immediately to you or SAS probably sent out a red alert?" 

Arrowsmith nodded. "We *did* wonder if it were possible for the Sim/Tac OIC not to have reviewed it yet. We decided to give you the benefit of the doubt for a few days. If you'd made an honest mistake, okay, if you were hiding something, then . . . " 

" . . . then you were giving me enough rope to hang myself." Kopeck shrugged his shoulders, then stood and assumed a ramrod straight position. "What else do you need to know, sir?" 

Arrowsmith stood also. 

"Commander Hume, please." Hume pressed a switch on his console. The Sim/Tac door opened; Griffin and Okazaki entered. "Lieutenants, please escort Commander Kopeck to the offices of the Federation Justice Department. The Attorney General wishes to speak to him." 

Griffin and Okazaki nodded. "Commander Kopeck, if you'll please come with us?" Griffin asked politely. 

Kopeck nodded. Without another word, he walked out of the Sim/Tac, a room where he'd spent the better part of the last ten years. 

#### 

Chapter Forty-four 

"This is the USS Aegis, confirm sighting of the Orion base. The USS Argus is intact and in standard orbit around the planet. Coordinates follow . . ." 

Delaney nodded at Wellington, who immediately transmitted a subspace burst with the necessary information. 

As soon as the message was sent, the warning buzzer sounding EndEx went off. The bridge muted lighting instantly returned to Earth day normal. The cadets blinked in shock, mutely looking at each other. 

EndEx? But they'd just gotten here! 

"Welcome, back Aegis," Nkengi's voice said over the ship's intercom. "That was a hell of a fine piece of flying. Oh, and Captain Delaney, I have it on good authority that the drinks are on Commander McClanahan." 

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir," Delaney replied slightly off- balanced. Drinks? 

Nkengi's amused voice came back. "It's now zero six hundred hours. Captain Arrowsmith recommends that we all break for breakfast at the Escape Velocity. Commander McClanahan says that the milk's on him." 

The Aegis crew finally began to smile in turn. Slowly their remarkable achievement began to sink in. They'd won! They'd found the pirate base and the USS Argus. They'd radioed Starfleet for immediate assistance . . . there was nothing else to do . . . the scenario was over! 

Delaney gave Wolfe a thumbs up. He returned it, a silent salute to his Captain. Soon the entire crew was standing; each crewmember had his or her arm fully extended. They were each giving Delaney, who was standing in the center, a thumbs up as a tribute to her leadership. 

#### 

Their arrival caused an immediate stir. Kirk never did figure out how the information arrived before they did, but news of their vindication, as well as their victory, had already reached the occupants of the Escape Velocity. 

Classmates offering their congratulations approached Delaney and crew. They were interrupted by a voice both Kirk and Mitchell recognized. 

"Jimmy! Mitch! Hey wait up! Excuse me, sir," Macudzinksi said politely, trying to sidestep around Finnegan, "but we happen to be on very close terms with Captain Delaney." 

"That's absolutely correct, sir," Nasta chimed in. "In fact--" 

"--In fact, they're the two newest members of my crew." Delaney smiled dangerously at Finnegan. "Do you have any problems with that, Finnegan?" 

Finnegan was about to reply, when he noticed five senior officers observing their by-play. One officer, Finnegan saw that he was a Captain with a Marauder Squadron Commander's chest insignia, said something to another. The second officer nodded and approached Finnegan and Delaney. 

"Excuse me, Cadet Delaney, Cadet . . . Finnegan is it?" 

Finnegan nodded. Commander Hume smiled and took out his tricorder. He activated it and began scanning. Finnegan blanched. He looked like he was ready to bolt, but was instantly held in place by Wolfe and Wellington. 

"Hmm-mm, very interesting, Cadet Finnegan . . . a metal object in your left trousers pocket looks like a . . . " he paused, his voice dropping dangerously, "I don't want to have to ask, Cadet." 

Finnegan immediately pulled out a set of brass knuckles. Hume took them from him, and passed them on to Arrowsmith. 

Mitchell, recalling what Finnegan had done to Kirk, was outraged. "Why you, low-down--" Kirk stopped him before he did anything. 

Hume continued scanning, eventually concentrating on Finnegan's boots. 

"Well, I'll be a dirty name . . . steel-toed reinforced . . . my, my, my . . . highly illegal, wouldn't you agree, Captain Arrowsmith?" 

"I would indeed, Commander Hume. Cadet Finnegan, as Chairman of the Commandant's Honor Board, I hereby charge you with carrying illegally concealed weapons on the Academy campus. I believe the Commandant's next Captain's Mast meets Tuesday. I still have a few loose ends to tie up planetside, before I return to my ship, Cadet. I'll see you there. Dismissed." 

Finnegan left quickly. 

"I hate bullies," Arrowsmith murmured. 

"We heard, Jimmy-boy! Mitch!" Macudzinksi's Texas drawl could be heard across the room. "The entire first year class is abuzz with it! Ya'll beat the real McCoy! Not some itty-bitty token trainer, but the real thing!" 

He and Nasta each grabbed Kirk and Mitchell in bear hugs. Suddenly realizing what Delaney had said earlier, Macudzinksi stopped. 

"Hey, Nasty, did you hear what Cadet Delaney said?" 

"What was that, Zinc?" 

"Cadet Delaney, sir, did you mean what you said to Cadet Finnegan? Or were you just joshing?" 

Delaney smiled. "I never josh, Cadet Macudzinksi. I'm not even sure what it means." 

"You mean, Nasty and me--?" 

"You betcha, kid." She looked at Kirk and Mitchell, "You're right, they're none too bright. I'll expect you two to bring them up to speed." 

"Yes, sir!" Kirk and Mitchell said together. 

"Tomorrow morning, zero four thirty on the PT field," Delaney continued. "Be there. It's a date!" 

Wellington spoke up. 

"Hey V. C. since the two kids are gonna part of the team we can't keep on calling them, Cadet This and Cadet That." He looked at Macudzinksi. "Tell me, Cadet This, how do you want to be called?" 

Kirk looked on hiding a smile, remembering his and Mitchell's welcome. Wellington really was a nice guy. He just didn't have very good eyesight when it came to certain ponytailed engineers. 

Kirk looked over at Zyglowicz. She was watching Wellington, smiling tolerantly. Kirk sighed. Love is blind, I guess. 

"Zinc, sir." 

"Well, Zinc, welcome aboard. By the way, I'm Duke, this here's Wolfman, that's Jayjay over there, and this lovely little bundle of radioactive fallout is Zee, prettiest engineering cadet on campus." 

Wellington gave her his trademark wink and smile. Zyglowicz blushed furiously. Kirk finally surrendered to the inevitable. He'd *never* have that kind of effect on women, he thought. Some guys just have all the luck. 

"V. C. Delaney is Cadet Delaney to you, I'm afraid, but she'll grow on you." Wellington then turned to Nasta. "And you, Cadet That, what do you go by?" 

Nasta paused embarrassed. He looked at Macudzinksi, Mitchell and Kirk in turn. Realizing he was taking too long, he shrugged, "Whatever. Doesn't really matter, I guess." 

"Well now, Cadet Whatever Doesn't Really Matter I Guess, would get kind of hard to say in an emergency, don't you agree Cadet Delaney? You think you'd be able to issue an order, to Cadet Whatever, etcetera?" 

Delaney's eyes smiled, as she shook her head no. 

"Now, see, our crew Captain, says she'll never be able to get her orders out on time. The ship could be destroyed by the time she gets to *I Guess*, so come on, give the Captain a break, how about an easy name we can all say when things get hot." 

"Come on, Nasty," Macudzinksi urged, "it ain't a very difficult question. Tell 'em what you'd like to be called." 

"Okay, okay," Nasta said hastily. "I just don't want to be called Nasty anymore, all right? My name's Mike . . . I've wanted to tell you this for a while now, but . . . " 

"Oh, forever more, Nas--I mean Mike. Why didn't you say something? I mean, I thought I was your best friend?" 

"Really? You mean that?" Nasta seemed genuinely surprised that Macudzinksi would admit that out loud. 

"Well, of course, you knucklehead! Why else would I put up with those whoppers you're always feeding us about girls!" 

"What's a whopper?" 

Macudzinksi just shook head in exasperation. Kirk and Mitchell smiled broadly. 

Captain Arrowsmith interrupted them. "Hey how about some breakfast? I seem to remember the food here wasn't too bad. Eggs were a little dry, though." 

Kirk looked at Nasta. "Don't worry, sir . . . " he began. 

"With Cadet Nasta present . . . " Mitchell continued. 

"No body's meal ever remains dry for long," finished Delaney. 

#### 

Epilogue 

Her gold hair glistened in the moonlight. She had arranged it differently tonight, elegantly upswept with golden ringlets softly cascading down her neck. Made her appear sophisticated, even stunning. He preferred the ponytail. 

A shear black and white sheath over a one-piece body suit sensuously silhouetted her petite figure. 

Kirk took a few seconds to stand quietly admiring her. He wanted to remember her like this, intangible as the starlit night. On impulse, he bent down and picked one of the hundreds of fragrant gladiolas that grew in the Academy's botanical gardens. 

Ten demerits, cadet, he thought, walking up behind her. Might as well get this over with. 

"May I join you?" he asked, a smile in voice. Zyglowicz whirled, startled. 

"Jimmy! You scared me half to death!" Zyglowicz half-laughed half-cried out in annoyance. Kirk stood looking down at her, storing her image for posterity's sake, a bittersweet memory for his later years. He handed her the flower. 

"Well, here I am," Kirk said unnecessarily. "You said you had to talk to me. It's a beautiful night . . . let's walk along the gardens and talk." 

He took her arm, and they began to stroll in slow, unhurried steps. Kirk finally broke the silence that had settled between them. 

"You're going back to him, aren't you?" 

"Yes. I'm sorry, Jimmy. I don't want to hurt you, but I can't help how I feel. I'm in love with him. Duke and I talked last night, and he admitted he has feelings for me, but believes we're still too young to make permanent commitments. We have a training cruise, our first deep space assignments, our whole future before us. What we have may not last, but it's enough for now." 

"And you have the end of term Senior Cadet Dance tonight." 

"Yes. Duke's meeting me here in another few minutes. I told him I had to talk to you first . . . that it wouldn't be fair to just stop seeing you without explanation. He understood." 

"Yeah, he would . . . why did he have to be such a nice guy anyway? If he'd been a creep, I would've done everything possible to make you forget him. How can a ordinary guy like me fight against someone who looks like that and also happens to be a great guy?" 

"You just keep on being you, Jimmy. As for looks . . . somehow I don't think you'll have any problems in that department." 

They had stopped walking and stood looking at each other. There was nothing left to say. 

Kirk leaned down and kissed her tenderly one last time. He caressed her cheek gently, then turned and walked away. 

As he walked, he suddenly remembered what day it was. Smiling ruefully, he said aloud, "Happy Birthday, Jim." 

The End #### 


End file.
